


Don't Leave Me Lonely Now (Colored Crimson In My Eyes)

by tornlinson



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, But he comes back, F/M, Female Tony Stark, Fluff, History, Idiots in Love, It's pretty sad actually, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Lots of Angst, M/M, POV Third Person, Reincarnation, Sad with a Happy Ending, Smut, Soulmates, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, as much angst there is when you keep seeing your lover die, but only loki knows that, did i mention it's sad, hella sad, historical events, loki just wants tony a lot, lots of smut, mascara alert, only once though, p. t. barnum makes an appearance, tony keeps dying sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2020-03-08 16:30:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18898414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tornlinson/pseuds/tornlinson
Summary: Tony's lives are fleeting, here one minute and gone the next.But Loki's always there.Every 76 years, Loki's there.





	1. 1614

**Author's Note:**

> I've always wondered how it would be for Loki to have a mortal soulmate, and having to witness every single time his mortal dies, only to be reincarnated again. Loki hates it obviously, but he's selfish so he takes what he gets. (Besides, who wouldn't be when it comes to Tony Stark?) 
> 
> (Title inspired from Ed Sheeran's 'Bloodstream' because I love that song and I definitely might try to characterize one of Tony's incarnations with that song, yay) 
> 
> (Also, literally my first ever fanfic. All I've ever done before is just nonsensical drabbles from ideas that swarmed in my head)

Jamestown, Virginia – 1614.

Antun stood sulking as the crowd rejoiced. The marriage of one of his tribe to an Englishman was the first step of peace between the Powhatans and the English. He watched, scowling, as their Chief bestowed his blessings upon the newlyweds. He couldn’t stand the thought of being married, devoting all his time to someone other than himself. He was clearly too important for that. Antun was lost in his thoughts when he got a vague sensation that he was being watched. He was at the back of the hall, leaning his back against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. His body language gave off – well, tried to give off –  every signal that he did not want to be approached. His eyes slowly scanned the crowd, stopping when he met amused green ones surrounded by pale skin. _English,_ he internally scoffed. Realizing that he was caught in the act, Antun warily watched as the mans mouth pulled into a coy smile as he slowly inched his way towards Antun, who had subconsciously straightened his posture.

“You do not seem to be very eager to join the celebrations.” The words flowed out of him like honey, and the ease with which he talked made Antun want to listen to him for days on end. There was a certain sharpness to his voice that was disguised underneath his words, barely noticeable if one wasn’t looking for it – which, well, Antun was. He wasn’t accustomed to the new language, but he was a quick learner and understood what the Englishman was saying. He felt conscious voicing his own limited words in the new language, especially when the man in front of him was so fluent in the language. So he nodded.

“You answer with the word ‘yes’,” The man said, smiling softly. Antun knew that, obviously.

“Yes,” Antun repeated, cringing when his voice sounded rough and shaky in contrast to the Englishman’s.

“It’s alright, I can help you. I am Loki,” The Englishman – Loki – reached out his hand, pulled Antun’s free from his chest and placed it flat against his own. Antun almost melted at the feeling of the cool, smooth skin holding his dirty and scarred own. He could feel the warmth from the others chest pulsing into his palm. “And you are?” Loki asked, moving their hands to Antun’s chest, and mirroring the same placement as before.

“Antun..” He said, and then tried to voice his introduction the same way Loki did. “I am.. Antun.”

“Lovely to meet you, Antun. Any reason why you’re standing at the back of the hall instead of joining the celebrations?” The man motioned to the crowd with a pointed nod of his head. Antun watched as the man’s jet black hair swayed with his movement and wondered what they’d feel like on his fingers.

“Noises… in the wall.” He then turned and pressed his ear against the wall, a desperate attempt to cover up his failed joke. It had sounded better in his head, in his language. Loki visibly beamed at Antun’s words, and he could feel his hear pounding against his chest at the sight of the happy man.

“Did it tell you to come and sulk in the corner?” Loki had a small smile playing on his lips, and Antun, mirroring his smile, gave a small nod.

\--

While most of the Englishmen returned back to England to their jobs and families, a few of them set up their establishments in the new colony – Jamestown. Loki stayed too, starting a tobacco farm with a considerable amount of help from Antun. They had a rather good relationship. Antun would help out with the farm while Loki repaid him by teaching him English. Antun’s only family was his mother, after the death of his father during a battle when he was a child. He had the full support of his mother, who, once a strong young woman, was bedridden from a strange sickness. During the times that her condition got worse, Loki wouldn’t see Anton for days on end, and he’d remember his own mother whom he had left back home. The native man was incredibly crafted, and skillfully merged his own business of tobacco pipes with Loki’s tobacco farm. Their combined business flourished greatly since Antun kept modifying the tobacco pipes until their competitions were far behind.

“Loki!” Antun’s frantic shout snapped him out of the book he was reading, his brain immediately going on high alert for the native man. With long strides, he reached the shed that Antun does most of his work in. His heart calmed at the sight of the man smiling widely, holding up a tool made of stone that looked nothing like what Loki had seen from his years on Earth.

“What is that?”

“I can make new tools!” Antun shook the thing in his hand with pride, grinning from ear to ear. “We can make business bigger!”

Loki grinned at the sight of the man, his messy brown hair sticking out on all sides from lack of taming and his eyes sparkling with new ideas. His tan skin was glistening with sweat, torso well sculpted with years of training as a warrior. With a warm feeling spreading through him that Loki couldn’t find himself wanting to control, he walked towards Antun. He flattened out the hair on the younger mans head and spoke.

“You are something else, Antun,” Loki’s fingers trailed down his hair, to his cheek and rested softly against his jaw. Without sparing a second to think, Antun leaned into the touch, much to the surprise of both men. Loki’s eyes flicked from Antun’s jaw to his eyes, before dragging his eyes down to Antun’s parted lips. Aware of the inventor’s gaze on him, Loki grazed his thumb over Antun’s lips, and the sudden hitch in the native’s breath didn’t go unnoticed. Antun leaned forward, reached his hands behind Loki’s neck and slotted their mouths together.

Their movements were slow, testing new water and fearing any small movement that would disrupt their kiss. Kissing a man was new to Antun, but the ease in which Loki settled into it showed that it probably wasn’t his first time. A spike of jealousy grew inside him, enabling him to put more of him into the kiss. He grabbed Loki’s hair, and moved his mouth desperately against the other, their teeth knocking. Loki let out a small whine at the sudden change in rhythm and moved forward in an attempt to pin Antun against his work table. The force at which Antun hit the table caused a few things to topple and fall down – which neither of them paid attention to – and in a swift movement, Loki had grabbed Antun by the hips and placed him on top of the table. The inventors body was radiating raw, naked heat as Loki started kissing down his jaw, his neck and his chest. Antun had his fingers tangled in Loki’s hair, eyes shut as he reveled in Loki’s mouth marking his skin. He could feel his cock growing harder by the second as it twitched in a desperation to be touched. As if Loki could read his mind, he used his free hand to start palming his cock.

When Loki’s tongue flicked over Antun’s nipple, he couldn’t help the moan that escaped his lips. Loki was _everywhere_ , hands on him, mouth on him, and Antun couldn’t get enough of the contact. Loki sucked on Antun’s nipple for a while before softly letting go, nipple pink and wet, and then moving slowly to where he had already pulled out Antun’s cock free from his clothing. Antun watched as Loki wet his lips, his lustful gaze shifting from the inventors cock to his eyes. He barely had time to register how close Loki’s mouth was to his cock before Loki took him completely inside his mouth – till Antun could feel the back of his _throat._ His hands were holding Antun’s thighs apart, as his head bobbed up and down, taking Antun inside his mouth with every bob. His chest was heaving, barely able to contain the rapid breathing escaping him through moans and inhumane sounds. Antun used his left hand to support himself as he leaned back, using his right hand to run his fingers through the Englishman’s dark hair. With every suction from Loki’s side, Antun would tug at his locks, earning a muffled moan from Loki, and every time Antun could feel Loki’s moan rumble through his cock, he inched closer to his release. His hitched breathing must have given it away, because Loki glances at Antun – pupils blown and lustful – as he raises himself from Antun’s cock with a _pop_. He replaces his mouth with his hand, and rises back up to place his lips against Antun’s.

“You,” Loki whispers, kissing him before pulling their lips apart again. “are so beautiful.” He wraps his fingers around Antun’s cock and starts stroking, picking up the pace until Antun shivers, gives out a small cry and releases on Loki’s fingers.

“Loki-“ He breathes out, barely able to finish his sentence as he rests his forehead against the Englishman’s shoulder, finding comfort in his warmth.

They embrace the next step in their relationship with open arms, leaving enough time everyday to explore each other – their mouths, their curves, their crevices and their skin. They knew each others sensitive areas, every nerve that inches them closer to pleasure. They spend days and months and years together, even getting married in secret. While marriage between two men was not unheard of, it certainly dampened any reputation in their colony.

Loki could soon see the years catching up to Antun, taking a toll on his features and creating wrinkles on what once used to be a smooth expanse of golden, tanned skin. Age spots were scattered throughout his face and body. Antun never did see a change in Loki, seeing the same young man he met 14 years ago. Flawless fair skin, smooth like marble and body as lean and built as if it belonged to a fresh warrior. He could feel his own aging, his own shortness of breath every time he walked too fast, or lifted something heavy, and yet Loki remained the same. He never spoke of it, never let his curious gaze linger on Loki for more than a few seconds, afraid that Loki would catch on.

He continued this, observing Loki whenever he could, trying to spot even a small change in his features – any sign of ageing – a wrinkle, a grey hair, anything. He watched as Loki slept, lashes dark and curved against his skin, lips always the same shade of fresh pink and skin that was flawlessly smooth. A slight movement of lashes, and Antun was too late to look away when knowing green eyes snapped open to meet his brown.

“What is it, my dear?” The question was innocent, and yet Antun _knew_ that Loki knew. Loki had always been smart, figured out a situation before it even presented itself. Loki’s tone was cautious, he even subtly emphasized on the ‘dear,’ so that Antun wouldn’t be suspicious. But he’d been suspicious for the last 9 months. He decided to come out with the truth, question him directly without tiptoeing around.

“You haven’t aged, Loki. It has been almost 15 years, and I haven’t seen a single sign of old age on you,” Antun spoke, trying to make his words as clear and sharp as possible. Loki had slowly sat up while he was talking, eyes focused on Antun like a prey analyzing the movements of its predator.

“Antun-“ Loki had a look that told Antun he was attempting to make something up. It was a calculating look – he’d analyse the person he’s speaking to, consider the situation, and spoke in favor of the mood. Antun wanted to cry at the thought that Loki actually considered lying to him.

“Please don’t lie to me, Loki. I love you, and whatever words that come out of you will not change that.”

Loki gave a resigned sigh as he stood up, walking slowly towards Antun. He raised his palm and placed it against Antun’s jaw, mimicking the same movement that brought them closer for the first time. “You are the best thing that has happened to me in all my lives, Antun. I could never forgive myself if a mistake from my part ceased our relationship. My lack of ageing is a secret I cannot disclose to anyone. It would put you in danger. If anything happened to you because of me, guilt would consume me from inside out. Antun, you are my husband, and I, yours. I’m the same person you met many years ago, and we’re the same people who fell in love with each other.” His words seemed so final, like Loki was giving one last speech. He plants a soft kiss on Antun’s lips, cherishing the contact before Antun pulls away.

“Condition? What? Loki, you are dying? Do not keep this from me, Loki. We will.. get through this together,” Antun grabs both sides of Loki’s face, searching his face in desperation. “Please tell me.”

“I’m sorry, I love you.” Loki scans Antun’s face, like memorizing every detail of an object before painting, and slowly backs away to turn around and exit the door.

That was the last time Antun saw Loki. He didn’t know that at the time, no, so he waited. He thought Loki might have gone out for a walk, for a change of space so that he could come back and apologize and tell Antun the secret he kept.

Hours passed, maybe Loki was occupied.

Night passed, which made him consider the possibility that maybe Loki was lost within the woods that bordered the north of their colony. There were often many incidents of travelers losing their way in the woods.

A week passed, and Antun came to the conclusion that Loki may have gone back home to England. Loki had always spoken of his family in England, yet had never made an effort to visit them the past 15 years, but maybe now he had.

A month passed, so he came to the conclusion that Loki decided to stay in England for a while till his condition was cured. They had better medicines there, it made sense.

A year passed, and Antun gave up. Loki wasn’t coming back. He thought back to the last time he saw his lovers face, pained and glassy green eyes that were full of love. The way they flicked across his face, lingered on his lips as Loki backed away from him. He thought of Loki, who was long and lean where he was shorter and muscular. Where Antun had scars and wounds, Loki’s skin was remarkably  plain. He thought of the deep shades of red that blossomed in Loki’s neck when Antun marked him whenever they made love. He thought of Loki’s narrow waist, the way they felt when Antun would hold his body against him as he leaned up to kiss him. Lovely, sharp collarbones that Antun would so often graze his teeth against.

Decades passed by, and Antun could only remember his Loki in fragments. He could never recollect Loki as a whole. Where once his memories of him used to be crystal clear, now it was a blur, longing to be clear again. He forgot how Loki sounded at the edge of his release, his moans against Antun’s mouth. He forgot what he sounded like when he whispered, when he screamed. He forgot the calculating stares that Antun used to be subject to. Forgot Loki’s loving gaze that often followed his words. He tried to remember the first time they spoke. A wedding, many years ago. Loki said something, but Antun doesn’t remember. They shared sweet smiles that marked the beginning of a wonderful relationship. His eyes were starting to flutter shut for what he felt would be the last time. He tried to hold on to the memories of Loki, anything that remained of his lover. Any moment that they shared in a span of 15 years. He tried to remember Loki’s laugh, a frantic attempt to grab onto a happy memory. He could feel his heart slowing, brain shutting down and he panicked. _Loki Loki Loki._ His husband had left him 50 years ago, walked out of the house that they lived in. Antun's nearing his last breath, and then, he sees an image. Pink lips bordered by pale skin. Dark hair that framed a forehead. Lips moving. A soft silky whisper of ‘I love you.’

It was a pain that rose from within him, churning his insides – pulling and twisting at them. There was no explanation that he could conjure from the top of his head, one moment he was in his chambers, reading ancient books, and the next second he felt the air being knocked out of his body. The pain was growing unbearable and he could do nothing but claw and grab at his chest in a weak attempt to stop the pain. He found himself barely able to sit up straight, grabbing hold of the edge of his desk before his body toppled to the floor. His heart was being ripped out of his chest by claws that didn’t even spare the surrounding organs. He reached for his magic, thinking of spells that would work against the pain. It was hard. His spells were easier to work when defending himself against a foreign object, but took much more effort to undo a spell of his own doing – which means, he probably brought this upon himself. There was only one spell he used on himself that could be this strong, and inflict so much pain. He couldn’t help but scream, the action doing nothing to compensate for the growing pain within him. His insides were being ripped apart into a million pieces, blood rushing to his head and making him unable to focus. There was a ringing in his head, stinging his ears as he felt tears pricking his eyes. He could feel it, feel the other body shutting itself down. He could feel the thoughts that whizzed through the other body, bringing a pounding into his own brain. It was a destruction of his own mind and body, and he let out shaky breaths as he lay on the floor and cradled himself, dreading the moment the pain would end and the connection breaks.

It had been a long time since he felt emotion from Antun’s heart. It was weak, but growing. He felt longing, could feel Antun wanting to see Loki again, remember what he looked like. He felt regret, that Antun had to somehow satisfy his curiosity, open his mouth and question his husband. If he’d never asked Loki, he would’ve never left. He felt a rush of sadness, pain, anger, fear all at once. _He_ _could feel so much_. And as soon as it came, it left. There was nothing, not even a heart to feel. Loki let out a shaky sob as the pain ceased. The connection was no more, the body he shared it with was lifeless. His heart had been tied to Antun’s, living through every emotion that Antun felt after Loki’s leave. The sadness, anger, disappointment and betrayal that Antun felt was also felt by Loki. He was so close to being discovered, to being discovered that he wasn’t just not of Earth, but not even human. Antun had suspected something for a while. That, Loki knew. But he selfishly decided not to act on it just so he can cherish his time with his husband until there was no more time. He knew Antun would’ve gone mad with curiosity if Loki hadn’t given him that chance. It hurt seeing his husband, his lover, continue his life without Loki. He could feel sadness blooming in Antun’s heart occasionally, no doubt that back on Midgard, his lovers eyes had landed on something of Loki’s. The sadness soon diminished within the years, barely there. Loki would’ve thought that Antun had gone numb. Loki could feel neither happiness or sadness from the man, not a single emotion. It had hurt seeing his lover like that, but exposing his identity was too big of a risk, and as much as he loved Antun, he could never have told him.

His lover had died, wasting his last moments on thoughts of Loki, and how Loki hated himself for putting his lover through so much pain. He had been so selfish to leave Antun alone like that, with nobody to care for him but his thoughts that spewed dangerous memories with Loki. Antun lived alone, old age limiting his movements outside the house they shared, and Loki prayed to the Norns that someone would find his lover soon.

He couldn’t bear the thought of his lover being alone even in death.


	2. 1690

Ancona, Italy – 1690

He held his breath until he could feel his heart bursting from within, desperate for oxygen. With a strong push of his feet against the ocean bed, Tony swam upwards as fast as he knew how to. He rose out of the water with a loud splash and a gasp, following by a succession of rapid breathing and easing his heartbeat. He’d held his breath for a minute and 19 seconds - according to his own mental counting which hopefully wasn’t far off. Wiping the water dripping from his face, he shook his head in an animalistic attempt to get rid of the hair plastered to his head. He had just started walking back to the shore when a voice made him glance to the shore, landing at a man who was conveniently seated beside where his clothes were kept. The stranger was alone, leaning back with long legs that stretched forward and inches away from the seawater that lapped at the sand.

“That was certainly very impressive, what was it – a minute?” The man who spoke was definitely English, evident in the way each syllable rolled off his lips with ease. He was also an outsider. Even though he sat alone, he still managed to look out of place on the sand, and Tony thought how odd he’d look among the townspeople. He lacked the ruggedness that most men in Ancona carried, lacked the golden sheen on his skin that the population had from spending all their time outdoors.

“A minute and a half,” Tony replied, rounding off for good measure. He watched as the man smiled, a small lopsided one and continued staring at Tony. Sure, Tony could continue this gaze-holding competition, but he didn’t really feel comfortable standing naked in waist high water as soft waves kept splashing against his back.

“ _Mi dispiace,_ do I know you?”

“Apologies, my name is Loki. I was talking a walk when I saw you going inside the water. I believed your intentions to be of wrong intent until I saw your belongings, so I sat here awaiting your return.” Loki pulled his legs back, removed his shoes – black and shiny, Tony noticed – and stood up. He watched as Loki unbuttoned his shirt - revealing pale, almost _white,_ expanse of skin - and lay them neatly beside his shoes before removing his pants and doing the same. Feeling guilt at watching the strange man undress, Tony looked away in a very obvious attempt to look innocent.

“I hope you do not mind that I join you. I’m usually not so forthcoming, but I would appreciate being in the comfort of water at the moment,” A pause, and then Loki hesitantly added, “As well as your company.”

“ _Si, va bene._ ” Tony replies, holding his gaze with a tree that was far away, avoiding any form of eye contact with the man. He heard the soft splash of water, indicating a body being moved against the water current. It grew closer and closer, up until Tony could do nothing but look back at Loki. Avoiding eye contact for so long would only hint at something else, something that Tony wasn’t very inclined to share with the stranger.

“Loki. Your name is _differente_. You are not from Ancona.” Tony looked at the man who had slowed to a stop right in front of him. Now that they were standing next to each other, Tony could see that Loki was extremely tall. So tall, in fact, that where the water ended below his own chest, for Loki it ended right at his lower abdomen. Tony could see the V-line, almost teasing at what lay under it, and if the water level had been a little lower he could almost see Loki’s –

“It is not, but I’m sure you already knew that.” Tony snapped his head back up, embarrassed that he even let his gaze linger on Loki’s body. He met Loki’s knowing smile, as if the man knew Tony’s thoughts, but the smile held more. As if he knew _more_.

“You are not like everyone else in Ancona.” Tony shrugged, trying to keep his embarrassment from showing in his cheeks.

“I shall take that in kind. You, however, have not told me your name.” Loki moves closer, his body gliding over the water and Tony can’t stop thinking about how close they are, and how _naked_ they are.

“Tony.”

“Tony,” Loki repeats, and Tony almost swoons at how good it sounds with Loki’s accent. It’s almost mocking, like sweet words that the devil would whisper right before he takes your life.

“Loki,” Tony says, for lack of better response. They spend a few moments in silence, Loki’s gaze fixed on him while Tony’s eyes flicked back and forth – never settling on anything for more than a second, especially not at where Loki’s skin meets the water.

“I was wondering, if it is no burden to you, if you could show me around Ancona. I’ve only just moved here, and so far you’re the only one I’ve been able to hold a conversation with.”

“ _Si,_ I can do that.” Loki’s smile is wide and all teeth, and Tony relaxes, returning the smile.

 

“This is the _Santa Maria della Piazza,_ it is a few hundred years old. And before this, there used to be two other churches on the same ground. The area is very holy, it is said to have given Ancona many miracles,” Tony motions to the huge marble building that they walk past. There was something hidden in Tony’s tone that makes Loki pause.

“You don’t believe?”

Tony whirls around to face Loki, eyes wide with terror. There was no way Loki could’ve known, not even guessed of Tony’s belief, or lack thereof. He frantically looks around, hoping no one was close enough to heard them, and leans closer to Loki before speaking in a hushed whisper.

“ _Merda!_ You cannot say that, not in Ancona! Especially not in front of the church. They are all true believers here, following every word of the Lord. Nobody dares to go against religion, and if they hear that you do not believe, they will have your head!” Tony closes his eyes and calms down, stopping the frantic movements of his arm before opening his eyes and continuing. “Loki, you must not speak against the Lord here in Ancona.”

“They,” Loki says, ignoring everything Tony has said except for a single word.

“Yes! _They_! Do you not under-?” Tony’s exasperation was evident, more so when he was cut short by a grinning Loki.

“You said ‘they,’” Loki says slowly, waiting for the realization to dawn on Tony’s face. “Not ‘we,’ or ‘us.’ You excluded yourself. You,” Loki pokes the other’s chest, “are not a believer.”

Tony visibly pales, eyes widening before he firmly grabs Loki’s wrist and leads them away from the open area to a more isolated one against the side of a house. Tony had time to breathe, to calm himself as they took long strides away from where they were talking. They’re very close, but Tony doesn’t have time to register that until he locks gaze with Loki and realizes that they are so close, a sliver of a gap between their bodies.

“I do not know what you are talking about, but you shouldn’t share your ideology as a non-believer here.” Tony looks up at him, doing his best at hiding any sort of tell that would giveaway his own secret.

“Tony,” Loki’s voice is now a hushed whisper, and Tony leans in closer, settling his gaze on Loki’s lips as they spoke. “I’m not going to tell anybody.” Their bodies are touching, faces only a breath away when suddenly, something behind Loki catches Tony’s eyes and he takes several steps away in a hurry. He clears his throat, and speaks unusually loudly for someone who is right in front of him.

“And this,” He motions with his entire arm to the wall beside them. “is the north wall of this lovely house. Legends say that north walls-” He's about to speak more of what is obviously a ridiculous story that he just made up, when a woman’s voice interrupts them from behind Loki.

“Tony, _figlio mio_ , what are you doing here? You went for a swim, _non_?” The woman held a kind face, but now it had a slight form of worry etched into it. She held a basket of fruits, no doubt returning from the market that Tony had shown Loki earlier.

“ _Si, madre._ This is Loki. He’s new in Ancona, so I am showing him around. I met him on the beach.”

The woman, who Loki figured out was Tony’s mother, shifted her gaze to him, all form of previous worry replacing her face with a lovely smile with sparkled in her eyes.

“ _Ciao,_ Loki.” The woman held out her free hand for Loki to shake, which he immediately took. “I am Maria Santarossa. Tony is my son. How do you like Ancona?”

“You are so young, I would have thought you to be his sister,” Loki says as way of greeting, to which Maria laughs gratefully in response. “Ancona is beautiful, ma’am. Your son has wonderfully guided me around the city, and every time I feel this town cannot be more beautiful, I am proven wrong.”

“You speak the truth, Loki. Ancona is very beautiful, I am glad to have my family here. You are here with yours?” Maria asks, with a curious tilt to her voice as she asked the last question.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ve come here from England with my wife, Nora. I thought I’d tour the town while she rests.”

“Oh! That is wonderful. I must invite you and your wife for dinner at our house, my husband would love to meet you both. Tony can show you the way home.” Maria pauses, and then adds as an afterthought. “Please call me Maria, there has to be no formalities.”

“Thank you for the invite, Maria. We’d be honored to come for dinner.”

Maria smiles, nodding, and bids her goodbye to the two young men. As soon as Maria is out of sight, Tony, who hadn’t spoken at all during their conversation, turns around too fast to be casual and leans against the wall. Loki can see Tony trying to put on a mask of indifference, can feel the man thinking and forming a sentence in his head.

“You did not tell me about your wife.” Tony says, far too accusing for it to be casual.

“I am very sure I did,” Loki replies and then switches the topic. “She must be awake now, I’ll introduce you to her.” Tony followed as Loki guided him through the streets, stopping short at intersections where he’d recollect the route and then immediately continuing. They finally reach Loki’s house, and Tony realizes it’s not too far from his own.

“Darling, I’m home!” Loki calls out, leaving the door open behind him so Tony can get in. Tony takes in the house, the walls and layout are similar to the houses in Ancona but that’s where the similarities end. Every single piece of furniture screams _English_ , and Tony is so caught up in taking in his surroundings he doesn’t realize the third presence in front of him.

“Hello there,” She smiles, mouth so wide it shows off all her pearly white teeth. Her skin is pale and nurses a natural shade of pink in her cheeks. Her warm brown eyes are no match to Tony's own. They compliment the brown of her hair and the pale shade of her skin so well, that its almost angelic to Tony. She is almost as tall as Loki, sharing his slender and lean features even if her body is curved and rounded where they need to be. If Tony even had minimal interest in women, he would have fallen in love with her.

“Hello, I am Tony,” Tony steps forwards and thrusts his hand out.

“My name is Nora, it is lovely to meet you.” Her soft hands wrap around his, giving it a quick shake before letting go.

“Tony here was just showing me around the town. We met his mother, and she’s invited us for dinner.” Loki says, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her cheek. Her smile widens at his words, eyes going brighter as she turns her attention towards Tony.

“That would be great! I’ve been wanting to meet other families since we came. I am so grateful your mother would think to invite us, Tony.” She leads him inside, and immediately her face changes to one of horror. “Oh no, I haven’t even offered you anything to drink. Would you like something to drink? Tea?”

“No, thank you. I have enough salt water in my body to satisfy any thirst for a few days,” Tony jokes, smile faltering when he meets Nora’s blank expression.

“He was swimming at the beach,” Loki explains.

“Oh!” Nora exclaims, and then laughs. “You are a funny man, I see why Loki brought you home. He is rarely friendly.”

“Okay, darling. You can get dressed now, I didn’t bring Tony here so you could discuss my habits,” Loki starts patting her and guides her to one of the rooms. Tony feels a spike of jealousy as they disappear from sight.

“She is very beautiful,” Tony comments as Loki comes out of the room. Loki smiles proudly in response.

 

They have a wonderful dinner at the Santarossa’s, and Tony comes to the conclusion that he should stop ogling Loki at every chance he gets and avoid any form of feeling towards him. He had tried to avoid Loki the days following the dinner, sometimes even Nora whenever he chances upon her in the street. Really, she didn’t do anything wrong other than just being Loki’s wife. How could he have a wife? Tony was so sure the moment they shared next to the church meant something, if not to Loki, then Tony. And Loki must have known that, must have known something since they swam together, otherwise why would he not mention he was _married?_ He decides to keep his distance from Loki.

Tony was in his fathers workshop, sitting by the window and polishing the shoes that was supposed to be kept for selling the next day. A shadow of a figure appears in his line of sight, conveniently blocking the natural light that reached the table he sat in front of. He doesn’t have to look up to check who it would be, he saw his arrival coming days ago. He had successfully avoided Loki the past several weeks, meeting him only because Loki showed up wherever he was but making no effort from his side to continue their conversations, or even meet Loki at all. Tony continues polishing, feeling the impatience radiating from Loki as he waits for Tony to look up. When Tony doesn’t, Loki scrapes his shoe multiple times against the stone road and the sound makes Tony internally sigh, and then look up. He can barely see Loki’s face, the sun behind him only showing Loki’s silhouette. He forces a smile, though.

“ _Ciao_ , Loki. Are you here for some shoes?” Tony lamely holds up the shoe he’s been polishing, realizes its for a lady and then adds. “For Nora, I meant.”

Loki frowns, maybe. Tony isn’t sure, he still can’t see Loki’s face.

“I would like to have a word with you, Tony. Is your father here?” Loki glances around.

“No, he is not. What is the matter?”

“Can I come in?” Loki sounds hesitant, as if Tony might refuse his request. Which – Tony could never.

“ _Si, la porta e aperta_.” Tony motions to the door with his head. Loki immediately disappears from the window, and Tony tries to calm his nerves by paying complete attention to the shoe. He doesn’t even realize Loki closing the door behind him. He remains focused on the black shoe until Loki clears his throat, forcing Tony to look at him.

“You have been avoiding me, and I would like to know why.”

“ _Cosa?_ No, Loki. Why would-“

“You are lying!” Loki’s voice rises at the last word, and Tony almost flinches. Loki’s lips are pursed now, fists balled at his sides and he’s glaring directly at Tony. He can sense the anger in Loki, but he can also see fear. One wrong word, and Loki could be completely lost to him. So he just stares at Loki, trying not to look guilty but looking so in every manner.

“I have done nothing to hurt you,” Loki speaks, softer now. He starts walking towards Tony, and Tony, without thinking, takes a step back. It makes Loki stop in his tracks, right in the middle of his sentence. Tony doesn’t know why he just did that, he’s been trying so hard to avoid Loki, it just came as a natural reaction. He can see the impact it has on Loki. The English man has stilled, frozen and looking like he’s not even breathing. He can see the slight tremble in Loki’s lips, and Tony acts fast.

“I am sorry. I did not mean to do that.” Tony starts walking towards Loki, who is still in his place with green eyes on Tony, yet unfocused. Tony’s in front of him now, and he remembers the last time he was this close to Loki, felt the heat radiating from him. Loki hasn’t responded to Tony yet, so he places his hand on Loki’s shoulder.

“Loki.” A small shake of his shoulders. Nothing. Loki hasn’t even blinked. He was about to do it again when he hears a sharp inhale of breath.

“You are afraid of me, Tony.” Loki’s looking at him now, eyes sharp and penetrating. Tony can see pain in them.

“I am not afraid. I have no reason to be afraid of you.” He doesn’t realize he’s moved forward, tilting his head up slightly to keep his eyes on Loki. His hand on Loki’s shoulder moves, around his neck – feeling his pulse rapidly beating against his skin – and he’s taken it too far now. He can’t take it back. In a fit of panic, he pulls his hand away as if burned but is immediately stopped by Loki’s hold on his wrist. Tony’s eyes flick from his wrist to Loki’s eyes, silently begging to let go.

“Please don’t,” Loki’s voice is pleading, down to a whisper, and Tony shivers at Loki’s breath fanning his face.

“Loki. Your wife-“ Tony starts but is cut off sharply by Loki.

“It matters not.” He says and then, before Tony has time to register the words, presses his lips against Tony’s. Tony barely has time to comprehend this. He jerks away in surprise at the sudden contact. He looks at Loki, who suddenly looks so desperate and so pained at the sudden loss of touch. It was a small movement, but Loki eventually starts increasing the space between them, and before he could succeed in that, Tony moves in and kisses him again. Loki’s hold on his wrist has loosened, and he uses that to place his hand behind Loki’s head and pulled him closer, leaving no space between them. Loki breathes out in relief, relaxing at the sudden turns of events, and melts into Tony’s touch.

“I have wanted you since that day at the beach,” Loki whispers when they stop to breathe. Tony can’t help but laugh at how absurd it is. Tony, avoiding Loki because he thought his feelings wouldn’t be returned and here was Loki, sharing the same feeling since the day they first met.

“I did not act upon my feelings. You were – you are married.” It hurt every time he thought of it. How could he face Nora after this? 

“She is not important anymore, Tony,” Loki comforts him. “It is only you I desire, my love.”

 

Their time together didn’t last long. Tony gets executed a week after they confessed their love to each other. Someone found out about his lack of belief towards the church, and as more people spoke of it, the more the story twisted. He barely had a chance to explain himself when officers barged into his door and dragged him through the streets of Ancona. Tony stood on the wooden platform, clothes torn and skin bruised and bleeding as he looked up at the noose suspended above him. His parents were held back by several officers, while many others gathered to watch the public execution.

There was a shift in the lever, and the wooden plank gave way. Tony Santarossa was dead.

It all happened in a few hours, Loki never even suspected anything to be wrong. He was to meet Tony for dinner. When Tony never showed up, Loki made his way to the Santarossa’s house. The news leaves him breathless. Numb. He thinks of his last moments with Tony. Just yesterday they were at the beach, Tony held his breath for so long and Loki was so proud at the sight of his lover. He remembers Tony saying he loved him, but Loki doesn’t remember saying it back. He _must_ have. _He should have. He can’t not have said – He would have said it. There was no way he didn’t._

Loki goes back home to mourn the death of his lover. He looks at Nora, a projection of his own magic, and wipes her from existence. He should never have brought her to life. He would have been able to spend much more time with Tony if he had told Maria he wasn’t married.

An sudden, violent earthquake strikes Ancona as night approached. People lost a large number of their belongings, buildings crumbled to dust, which was why it was surprising when they realized no lives were lost. They believed it was merely Mother Nature awakening from a long sleep. Nobody guessed it to be because of a lone mage expressing anger over losing his loved one.

He blames himself. He thinks of the last time his lover died, but this time, he feels nothing.


	3. 1766

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Biggest apologies in advance, I've never written smut before.   
> I. Am. So. Embarrassed.

New Orleans, Louisiana – 1766

He arrived in New Orleans during the early hours of the day. He had been away for a few years now, seven - to be exact, travelling across the country and expanding his father’s trade business. He had set up several establishments all over the country, making a name for the business so he could make his father proud. Helena greets him with a strong hug, her tight smile the same as he had seen before he left. She was young, with skin that paled against her raven black hair, and barely ten years older than Antonio himself. She carried herself with a wave of strength and intimidation that made everybody respect her, and even hesitate to cross her. Helena had been his father’s business assistant ever since she finished her schooling and took a liking to Antonio’s father’s business. His father was charmed by her quick wit and her ability to take on any responsibility that was thrown at her. Her growing companionship with Antonio’s mom only made her spend more time at the house, and Antonio would often find himself engaging in conversation with her and seeking her for advice. His parents came out the mansion soon after, his mother immediately pulling him into a hug with teary eyes, mixing words on how much she’s missed him and how long he’s been gone. His father’s next, smiling as he places his hand on Antonio’s shoulder and gives it a firm squeeze. It’s the best he can get, but he takes it. His father rarely expresses his emotions.

Helena accompanies him to his bedroom, informing him that his belongings would be brought to his rooms by someone else. His family is rather well off in terms of wealth compared to others. He’s had countless nannies and tutors throughout his childhood. They’ve had uniformed guards at their every beck and call, and soon enough, to Antonio, their faces are just a blur to him. No guard stays for longer than a year, something to do with security, and every new one goes through extensive background checking. Antonio gives her his gratitude and heads inside his room. It looks almost the same as he left it – the carpeted flooring, an unslept king sized bed with a velvet bedspread that matched his curtains. They were pulled back, allowing his floor to ceiling windows to filter the sunlight to his room. Antonio had always liked the huge windows, loved the natural light that came through it and warmed his room. His desk was empty, void of all his stationary and paper and documents that he so often filed through for new business ideas.  He’s just about to settle into his bed for a short nap when the door opens. No knocks, not even a word of warning, but just the door being pushed open.

The man who came in wasn’t dressed like the other guards. He was wearing casual clothing just like Antonio was. He was tall and lean, with long black hair that was combed back and ended at the nape of his neck. His features were familiar, and Antonio wondered if he was one of the guards from many years ago. The man only glanced briefly at Antonio before placing his belongings beside the door. If he had asked, Antonio would have told him he’d have preferred his things being placed by the bed – less distance to walk. But the man didn’t ask, so Antonio didn’t say.

“He likes his belongings closer to his bed.” Helena’s voice rings out as she enters the room, eyes on the man. Instead of looking at her, or even responding, the man looks at Antonio. _Really_ looks at him, almost scrutinizing him with his gaze. Antonio feels his breath catching in his throat, before he gulps it down and speaks.

“That’s alright. I do not mind it there.” Antonio’s eyes don’t leave the man, and he can see a thin smile forming on the other man’s face.

“Apologies, dear. My brother can be ignorant at times,” _Brother?_   _That makes sense_ , Antonio thinks, now that he really looks at the both of them from where he’s sat. The reason he thought the man was familiar is because he looked exactly like the male version of Helena.

“Now, Hel,” The man speaks, words flowing out of his mouth in a tone that can only be mocking. “I’m sure the Governor isn’t interested in my bad habits, not more than he’s interested in pleasuring himself at the moment.”

The mood in the air shifted, weighing down on Antonio. Helena’s sharp gaze flickered to Antonio, analyzing his reaction, before settling her glare on the other man.

“Loki, you dare? You are lucky Hector even let you to be around his son after what you were accused of.” She hisses, her words slicing through the air and Antonio almost fears for her brother.

“Ease yourself, Hel. It was just banter.” And that, Antonio figures, was also not the right thing to say. He could feel Helena’s anger boiling from within her, glaring daggers at Loki before she speaks in what can only be controlled rage. “Leave.” She says, and that’s all the cue Loki needs before he glances at Antonio and scurries past her and out the door.

Antonio waits a few moments, waiting as he sees Helena visibly try to compose herself. She takes her time, certainly, and Antonio figures she’s probably conjuring a good apology. He immediately cuts her off, dismissing any apology that started making its way out of her, and tells her he is more intrigued than offended. She smiles gratefully, passing a comment on how she’s always known he would grow up to be a good man, and leaves Antonio to himself.

He sees increasingly more of Loki after that, to the point where he comes instead of Helena and acts as her messenger. He even starts accompanying Antonio to smaller business meetings that his father is unable to attend. Loki is smart and witty where he needs to be, manipulating any situation to act in favor of Antonio. He fears none, and remains indifferent to whatever gaze is on him, or whatever words are spoken against him. Helena has most likely informed Loki that Antonio doesn’t mind him, which is why he can always sense the ease in which Loki carries himself when he is alone with Antonio. In public, however, Loki stands cold and unapproachable, speaking only when required as his words cut across any conversation.

“I have not seen Helena for a few days, is she in good health?” Antonio asks one day, barely letting his curiosity seep through his words. Loki glances at him, an amused smile on his face and Antonio’s already dreading the answer. They were in the courtyard of his mansion, basking in the golden rays of the setting sun.

“Why, Governor,” Loki drawls, a lopsided grin painted on his face “one would think you desire her. This is only the fourth time you are asking today.”

“Must you always assume that I am so desperate that I wish to lay with whoever I inquire about?” 

“Not so much of an assumption than it is hope,” Loki replies, turning away to look at a dying plant, the end of his sentence lost to Antonio as a soft breeze whisks it away. So he doesn’t reply, hoping that whatever Loki had said didn’t really call for a response. Loki kneels down, caressing the withered petals of a sunflower, a small frown that knitted his brows together.

“The gardener has truly forgotten his job!” He exclaims angrily. He stands up and starts walking back to the mansions, Antonio rushing to keep up with the rapid pace of the taller man. He stops abruptly, and Antonio almost bumps into him. Loki snaps at one of the servants, asking where the gardener is, and the servant visibly pales under Loki’s glare. With a shaky finger, he points at the direction and Loki continues walking, and again, Antonio tries to keep up. He almost feels bad for the gardener, considering the anger he just displayed towards a servant who was trying to help him. Over Loki’s shoulder, Antonio can see the figure of the gardener in the distance, watering a shrub. Without pausing to think, Antonio lunges forward and grabs Loki by his wrist. The sudden break in his speed causes Loki to be pulled back ever so slightly, but it was too late for Antonio to stop the movement of his own feet, and their bodies collide. Loki’s eyes flick down at the sudden contact of their bodies, gaze softening before they turn into the same fiery glare from before. He opens his mouth to speak, words that only be equivalent to poison, but Antonio interrupts him.  

“Loki. That won’t be necessary. I’ll speak to the gardener,” and before Loki could say anything else, Antonio added. “Later.”

“You believe you can do my job better than me?” Loki’s glaring daggers now. Daggers, swords, bullets, everything.

“I’m not sure what your job is, but I believe I can do it without creating enemies.” Antonio shoots back, maintaining his gaze. Loki’s eyes narrow at that. He turns his head and shoots another glare at the oblivious gardener. He snatches his wrist from Antonio's grip and scoffs lightly before walking away in the direction they came from.

Antonio is making his way back to his room when he spots the door to Loki’s room slightly ajar, the space just wide enough to put his hand through. He decides that he should probably apologize to Loki, fully aware that dismissing Loki’s job would have clearly wounded his ego. He’s about to knock, when he catches sight of Loki’s face through the gap. The man’s eyes are screwed shut, teeth clenching down on his lips in a movement that is sure to draw blood. Loki’s breathing is heavy and rugged, inaudible to Antonio but evident through the way his chest rises and falls, lips trembling before he bites them again. Antonio spots the subtle red that colors Loki’s cheeks, spots the beads of sweat on his forehead, and little strands of hair that sticks to his skin. Loki looks absolutely flushed, and without thinking, Antonio moves slightly, changing his line of sight until he spots Loki’s hands disappearing inside his trousers and the rapid movement beneath the cloth. Antonio can hardly believe his eyes. He moves again, settling his gaze on how vulnerable Loki looks in the moments before his release. He doesn’t see the cocky, sarcastic person who can never bite back a reply. He sees a man aching for the desire to be touched, for lust. He feels blood rushing down to his cock, and Antonio just races back to his own room. If later, he lets out a loud cry in his bathroom as releases himself to thoughts of Loki’s body pressed against him while Antonio thrusts in and out of him, he doesn’t tell anyone.

It’s uncomfortable after that. Every time Antonio looks at Loki, or whenever Loki speaks to him, he gets flashbacks of how Loki looked like when brought himself closer to an orgasm. He remembers the movement of Loki’s hands, how desperate he was to pleasure himself, no doubt his mind full of thoughts that would send him over the edge. As Loki talks, Antonio’s gaze travels down to Loki’s hands, desperate to feel them around his own cock.

“You are not here,” Loki states, and Antonio is immediately snapped out of his dream state. Loki’s scowling, clearly annoyed at having to interrupt his own sentence when he realized Antonio wasn’t listening. Antonio just stares innocently at him, no words to defend himself. “I mentioned an eight-legged horse and you nodded,” Loki adds, and Antonio has the audacity to smile in response.

“Apologies,” Antonio says, looking away, when Loki’s still scowling at him after a whole minute of silence. “My thoughts were.. elsewhere.”

When he turns back to Loki, the man’s scowl has turned into a feral grin. “Elsewhere, as in, on somebody else?” Loki asks, and Antonio only had to see the quick flicker of Loki’s eyes downwards to realize that Antonio’s cock had betrayed him. When Loki’s question is met with uncomfortable silence on Antonio’s part, the man leans forward, ever so eager.

“Oh, do enlighten me,” The man nothing but purrs, eyes glinting with victory. It takes all of Antonio’s good will to not put his mouth on Loki and shut him up. Loki’s voice does nothing to help the bulge growing in Antonio’s pants, and before it becomes obvious, he abruptly stands up. 

“I have matters to attend to,” Antonio says, and starts walking back to his room. He doesn’t miss Loki’s “in your pants?” as he increases the space between them. Antonio is internally fuming at how explicit Loki is. It does absolutely nothing to help Antonio hide his own feelings for the man.

He enters his room, and is just about to close the door behind him when an arm shoots out from the remaining space and makes Antonio stop short. Loki’s lean frame slowly makes its way through the gap and Antonio just glares at his hand that’s gripping the door.

“My apologies,” Loki starts, hesitant. Neither of them attempts to make eye contact. “I crossed a line, and I would understand if you chose to distance yourself from me.”

Antonio sees it, sees the exact moment Loki tries to play the victim card and try to gain Antonio’s sympathy.

“Splendid, you have just spared me from a conversation I was dreading to have with you. You have my thanks. Good day.” Antonio bows ever so slightly and waits expectantly as Loki takes his leave. He doesn’t miss the flicker of hurt that flashes on Loki's face. It was over in a moment as Loki’s features transitioned into a scowl. The man was clearly irate at having his plan backfire on him, evident in the low huff he gave as he walked out the door.

He dreams of Loki. Skin on skin, body against each other as Antonio desperately moves in and out of Loki. His thrusts are almost tearing Loki apart, each one going deeper than the previous until there is a fire building up in his belly. Loki’s own cock lies hard against his abdomen, relishing the feel of Antonio’s torso moving against it, the friction threatening at Antonio’s release. He’s almost there, he can feel it, feels his breath hitch –

Antonio wakes up with his heart hammering against his chest. It was dark outside, the moonlight streaming through his windows were just enough to illuminate the edges of his furniture. He swings his legs around the side of his bed and stands up, the carpet soft against his feet.

Surprisingly the door to Loki’s room is open. He senses a tingling feeling on his skin as he steps through the threshold. He blames it on his nerves. He spots Loki’s body spanning across the bed, blanket tossed aside. One hand across his bare chest, the other folded under his head while his legs crossed one over the other. Antonio takes in a moment to drink in the sight of Loki’s sleeping figure. He walks towards Loki, eyes fixed on his face, dreading the moment that Loki’s eyes would open and land on Antonio.  His hand reaches out to brush the lock of hair that fell across Loki’s face, _so close. He’s almost touching it,_ and suddenly, the hand that was resting against Loki’s chest was suddenly gripping Antonio’s wrist in an iron-like grip.

Antonio’s gaze flickers from the hand on his wrist, to Loki’s eyes that had snapped open and was schooling a glare. Loki lets out a sharp exhale upon realizing that the figure in front of him was not a threat, and his glare softens. There is a frown on his face, creases along his forehead as he stares at Antonio with curiosity bubbling from within. Antonio’s first line of defence are his words, and they immediately die on his throat. He stares helplessly as Loki keeps his hold on Antonio, certain that Loki can feel his pulse pumping through his wrist. His eyes are locked on Antonio, no doubt searching for any indication as to what Antonio is doing in his room in the middle of the night other than kill him in his sleep.

“I heard something,” Antonio starts, pausing to gulp. He already feels how pointless it would be to defend himself. Loki’s entire face immediately softens, and his mouth breaks into a thin smile, much like the one he gave Antonio when they first met.

“Is that so?” His fingers are still around Antonio’s wrist, loosening slightly as his thumb strokes against the sensitive skin on the inside of Antonio’s wrist. Antonio gulps, barely nodding in response to Loki’s question. The action feels so intimate, and Antonio feels time slow down as he relishes in the feel of Loki’s thumb soft against his skin. He wonders what they look like to someone watching. Loki, lying flat on his back and ever so still, while Antonio stands hunched over him. One holds the wrist of the other, gazing at each other as if lost in a trance. It’s almost like the setting of a romantic novel, moments before two lovers allow their needs to take over. Antonio feels the slight tug that Loki gives on his wrist, and he, without thinking, complies. Antonio sits down at the edge of the bed, barely able to look anywhere else other than the other mans eyes, while Loki lowers their hands to rest on his chest. Loki’s chest is warm against Antonio’s palm. He can feel Loki’s heartbeat. Obviously, Antonio has to ruin the moment with words.

“Two weeks ago, after the incident about the gardener, I saw you. In your room.” Antonio pauses, watching Loki’s expression as realization sinks in. “I could not take my eyes off you, and everyday after that, that is what I see when I see your face. That is what happened earlier today, before I returned to my room. The image has consumed me, and seeing you now, in the same way, on the same bed..” He trails off, unsure of how to finish his sentence without making his interest explicitly obvious. Loki breaks eye contact for the first time since his eyes landed on Antonio as his eyes flicker to his lips. Antonio is about to pounce on that cue when Loki speaks.

“I was under the assumption your interests were far from me. You never responded in a manner that suggested anything, and I believed I was nothing more than just a faceless guard.” Loki pauses, takes a moment to breath, and then continues.

“You always kept me at arm’s length until that day in the garden. I had never been that close to you, and I confess that it affected me more than I thought.” Loki’s hand that was under his head slowly reached up to Antonio’s face. They trailed down the side of his face, feathery touches as if Loki was too afraid to make proper contact with his face. “I could not stop my mind from replaying the scene, and I wondered how it would feel if your body was bare against mine,” Loki’s fingers ghost over Antonio’s lips, lingering there. “while you made love to me.”

Antonio lets his hand do the thinking as it moves free from Loki’s hold and travels down Loki’s abdomen, inside the waistband of his undergarment and against Loki’s half erect cock. He sees the exact moment Loki’s breath hitches, lips parting open as his eyes flutter shut at the contact. Antonio wraps his fingers around Loki’s cock and starts stroking, twisting and pulling as he increases the pace. Loki’s hand moves from Antonio’s face to grip his arm and tightening the hold. Soft, low moans escape from Loki’s mouth, mixed with heavy and erratic breathing. His hips start jerking to the movement of Antonio’s hand, barely able to keep with the pace. Colour starts to creep up on Loki’s cheek, pale face illuminated in the moonlight while Antonio flicks his thumb over Loki’s tip, pleased at the wetness of his pre-come leaking through. His eyes are on, and only on Loki’s face, relishing in the signs of pleasure that’s being highlighted on his face. His eyes are screwed shut, breathing only turning more erratic as his body trembles, while he arches his back and starts thrusting into Antonio’s hand, desperate to bring himself to release. It ends with a loud moan from Loki, his grip on Antonio’s arms tightening for a brief moment before he lets go. Loki sinks back on the bed, breathing heavily and looking extremely flushed. Their eyes meet, and without thinking, Antonio leans forward and kisses Loki.

Loki’s quick to respond, moving desperately against Antonio’s lips, tongue flicking over teeth. Antonio pulls his hand away from Loki’s cock, breaking free from the kiss and ignoring the soft whine from Loki. He sits up to strip himself off his night robe. Loki uses that time to remove his own under garments, desperately snaking his way out of them. He watches as Antonio does the same before the man lifts himself and eases himself between Loki’s legs that are now spread open. He sees the size of Antonio’s cock, growing erect at the thought of it inside him. Antonio’s cock is pressed against Loki’s as Antonio starts kissing down his jaw, nipping and biting at the sensitive skin on his neck. Loki lifts his legs and crosses it over Antonio’s back, pulling them closer and pressing their bodies flush against each other.

“Antonio,” Loki gasps out, breath laced with pleasure as Antonio trails his lips down Loki’s chest. “I need you.”

Antonio’s fingers trace down to Loki’s cock, cupping his balls before pressing a finger against his hole. Loki visibly shivers, pushing his hip forward to increase the pressure on his hole.

“Do you have oil?” Antonio asks, and Loki frantically nods his head with a “yes, yes” before reaching to the side table and pulling open the top drawer. His hands fiddle around in the space, looking for the oil, finally breathing out on relief when he catches a hold of it. He wastes no time in opening the lid and watches hungrily as Antonio dips three entire fingers into the liquid. He smears the oil around Loki’s entrance, watching as contact with the cool liquid on his most sensitive area sends shivers through his body. He presses the tip of his middle finger against Loki’s hole, relishing in the silent plea that Loki gives him, before inserting it. Loki bites back a low moan that ends as a vibration on his throat.

Loki lies there, open and willing, and so desperate for Antonio’s touch as his finger works inside him. He would’ve never dreamed of this situation, would’ve never guessed Loki to take interest in him. He remembers the first time he saw Loki, so beautiful yet so dangerous. He was all sharp edges, always wearing a thin smile that mocked the presence of anyone nearby. Always wary of his surroundings, never letting anyone bask in the attention of his gaze. When he does look at you, its as if he sees everything that you’ve hidden. Your faults, your mistakes, you guilt, your desires, _everything._ Since then he’d wondered what Loki would look like – a man who always act as if he’s in control – when he comes undone. And Antonio sees it, sees the way how every touch makes Loki tremble, sees how his breathing turns erratic when he’s at the peak of pleasure. Antonio inserts another finger, and Loki’s arching his back and desperately pressing himself further into Antonio’s fingers. Loki, as an afterthought, grabs the back of Antonio’s neck and pulls him down for a lip crushing kiss. He continues pumping in and out of Loki’s hole, adding a third finger which immediately elicits Loki moaning against his mouth. Loki’s biting at Antonio’s lips hard enough to draw blood, his hands trailing over Antonio’s body. His back, his arms, his shoulders, his torso. Loki’s exploring him, familiarizing himself with every curve in Antonio’s body as he stretches Loki from within. Loki's hands work over Antonio's body as if he knows it like the back of his hand. His finger softly linger over all of Antonio's sensitive areas. Behind his neck, the small of his back, his nipples. 

“Tony,” He breathes against Antonio’s mouth, hips bucking against the fingers that were working in and out of him. The name accidentally slips out from Loki, and Antonio sees a flicker of guilt in his face before it disappears. Antonio places a firm kiss on his mouth, an action conveying that he doesn’t mind the nickname, before pulling himself back. He looks at Loki, stops, and then leans over Loki to the side table and flicks the lamp on. The room is immediately colored with light, and Antonio shifts his focus back to Loki. He sees the pale skin against the green bed sheet, his long black hair splayed on the white pillow and Antonio’s caught off guard at how beautiful Loki looks. Loki’s legs are spread apart, and Antonio can see his hole pink and wet and _open_ only for him. He moves, positioning his cock in front of Loki’s entrance and slowly pressing. Loki’s eager, moving and writhing at the contact, and raising his hips against Antonio to allow an ease of movement. Antonio smirks, and slowly starts entering Loki, his hands tightly gripping Loki’s hips and keeping him in place.

Loki’s gasping, chest heaving as he struggles to contain his breathing. His mouth is open, parted lips shaking with every breath. With dark lashes that do nothing to contain the emerald green of his eyes, Loki keeps his eye fixed on Antonio, urging him to continue. Antonio pushes in further, and Loki’s hips buck against him in response. Antonio’s pace is achingly slow at first, wanting to stay in the moment as long as he could. He wanted to remember their first time together. How Loki responded to every touch, every movement. How he shivers with pleasure. Loki lets out a small whine and Antonio uses that as a signal to increase his pace. He thrusts in and out of Loki in rapid movements, the sounds of their body smacking each other and Loki’s ragged breathing the only sounds in the room. Loki’s tight and slick around him, his heels digging into Antonio’s lower back, and the small noises that Loki makes does nothing to prolong Antonio’s release. With one last thrust, he lets out a cry as he releases inside Loki, hot liquid that threatens to seep through the gap between their skin. Antonio pulls out, watching as his orgasm drips down Loki’s hole and pools on the bed. He drops himself beside Loki, exhaling in relief as a smile forms on his face. Loki inches closer to Antonio and presses his body against Antonio’s side. He shifts his arm underneath Loki and places them around Loki’s waist, while Loki drapes an arm across Antonio’s chest. His fingers start tracing patterns on the side of his neck and his jaw. His movements slow down as they play with Antonio’s ear, eventually stilling. Loki’s fallen asleep, and so does Antonio – who feels like he’s home for the first time since he arrived.

They spend the remaining nights sharing the bed, sometimes Antonio’s and sometimes Loki’s. Their relationship goes unnoticed by Antonio’s parents, the only difference being that they’ve taken note of Antonio being happier than they remember. Helena noticed too, but she never said anything. The amused smile that plays on her lips whenever Loki and Antonio are around is the only thing that reveals her thoughts. When Antonio is called to check on the establishments he’d set up across the country, Loki joins him. Nobody says anything. Loki had certainly proved himself to be responsible and effective when it came to business matters, sharing his sisters trait. They settled in Charleston, South Carolina, and moved into a small house by the sea when it became clear that their establishment in the city had high trading scopes. Loki liked living by the beach, usually letting himself fall asleep on the shores. Often Antonio would see him gazing longingly at the distance, where the ocean met the sky, which Antonio just assumed to be him missing Helena back home. They don’t let their relationship show in public, couldn’t even risk getting married, but instead established themselves as partners in the business to wade away suspicious eyes. They were happy.

When Antonio’s parents died of old age, Loki was there to comfort him. Helena assured that she can take care of the business where his father left off if Antonio can continue his work in South Carolina. Antonio dreams of his parents almost every night for a month after that, and waking up to Loki’s warm body against him immediately works wonders on his tensed nerves. They grow old together, until they’re forced to choose a heir to the family business. Antonio and Loki didn’t have children, so the responsibility is thrust open Helena’s son, who had taken a liking to the family business since he was a child. Antonio had only met him a few times, the boy was born shortly after Antonio and Loki shifted to Charleston. But the boy being Helena’s son, and Loki’s nephew, Antonio was sure the business would be in good hands. Handing over the business feels like a burden lifted from their chests, and they spend the rest of their days in the comfort of their home. Antonio is the first to pass, which honestly, Loki sees coming. Loki hasn’t slept in days, worried if Antonio would take his last breaths in his sleep. They say their _I love you_ ’s every night before bed, not risking the probability of it going unspoken. His mind is on high alert, which is how he realizes that Antonio’s breathing has started to soften. The rising of his chest is slower, and Loki witnesses the exact moment Antonio takes his last breath. He checks for Antonio’s pulse and his heart twisted in pain when it was still against his fingers. Loki shifts out of the glamour he put on himself. The wrinkles vanish from his face, loose skin smoothening out all over his body, his age spots disappearing as grey hair morphs into black. He leans over Antonio, pressing a soft kiss against his forehead, and then his lips. His heart ached. This was the first time he witnessed the death of his lover. But Loki felt an odd sense of comfort. Comfort in the fact that Antonio lived a full life with Loki until they grew old together, that his life wasn’t cut short in Loki’s absence. Loki was here, with him, in Antonio’s last moments.

He thinks back to the younger version of Antonio. The first time he came across Antonio, he barely spared him a second glance. He still mourned the death of Tony. Loki could never forgive himself for letting Tony out of his sight, letting the laws of the city steal his lover from him before they could spend enough time together. But the moment his eyes landed on Antonio for the second time, he realized it was his chance to start this all over again. He couldn’t risk leaving Antonio’s side, couldn’t risk Antonio realizing that Loki doesn’t age. So he accompanied Antonio everywhere, aging his own self according to the changes he could see on Antonio – slow and gradual. His daughter, Hel, who’d taken form as his sister, followed suit with the aging.

He had told Hel about the strange occurrences, how his seidr guided him to a different incarnations of his lovers – Antun, Tony, Antonio. He was forced to, after the sudden death of Tony left him frantic and helpless and Hel started asking questions. _We didn’t have time, we didn’t have time_ , he’d find himself repeating, pacing as he shook with a combination of anger and guilt. His daughter offered to accompany him the next time it happens, which was how Hel arrived in New Orleans, years before Loki was supposed to meet Antonio. Loki feared that Hel’s similarity with his own features would catch Antonio’s attention, risking the formation of his own relationship with Antonio. Hel merely laughed at that, dismissing Loki and telling him not to worry before she left for Midgard. 2 years later, when Antonio left home for the first time, Loki showed up in the pretense of Hel’s brother. Loki was welcomed with open arms, considered a part of the family and the business as much as Hel was. After that, it was only a long and tiresome wait of 5 years that felt like an eternity for him to meet his soulmate again.  


	4. 1842 (1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've split this chapter into 2 parts, mainly because this story exceeded the 5k limit that I had set for each chapter. (except for the last, of course)

Manhattan, New York - 1842

Tonya’s heart jumped with delight as she watched her husband perform, twisting and turning and bending in all the odd angles as the crowd awed in admiration. Ever since she saw Harold performing on the streets, there was something about him that made her visit him at the exact spot every day and watch as he performed. He had caught on eventually, equally shy and surprised that someone like her would take interest in him. He’d been called deformed by many, a freak of nature, and continued his days with the assumption that he’d never find love. Harold Duncan wasn’t attractive in the way that every woman wishes her husband to be, but he made up for it with his charms, his wit and his personality. They got married a few months later, and it was only due to Tonya’s insistence that Harold approached P.T Barnum so he could perform at his museum. She watched Harold move as if he had no bones, bending backwards till he could look at the audience from between his legs, arms protruding in all the wrong angles. The crowd cheered, and Tonya felt a gush of satisfaction at watching her husband receiving the appreciation he deserves. She’d always known he was meant for more than just street performances.

The final light show starts, signalling the end of the day’s event, as sparks and fireworks fill the area. Tonya stands and rushes out, not wanting to catch the huge crowd that would eventually swarm the way, and starts making her way to the back entrance of the building. She barely has time to register what’s in front of her as she harshly collides with a man who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.  

“Oh my, I am so sorry. I wasn’t watching-“ Tonya rapidly starts apologizing before she’s cut off by the man in front of her.

“The apologies are mine to say, ma’am. I arrived a little too late, and was rushing inside myself.” He smiles, removing the hat from his head and holding it in his hand. Tonya sees his face properly now, and she certainly cannot deny that the man is attractive. He is incredibly tall – she only reaches his shoulder – and carries himself gracefully, which is a trait Tonya rarely sees in men. His hair is black, neat and slicked back, while his eyes shine a rich green. High cheekbones frame the sides of his face.

“Well, you know what they say,” Tonya shrugs with a smile, “Better late than never.” The man responds with a laugh, as if Tonya said something incredibly funny, and she finds it to be extremely contagious. She lets a small laugh slip out from her mouth.

“I have to leave now,” she says before the man can continue the conversation any further. “Enjoy the show.” She bows slightly and takes his leave, noticing a slight frown that formed over his features as she moves past him.

She meets Harold backstage, standing amidst the crowd of performers rushing back and forth, and starts peppering him with kisses as he playfully tries pushing her away.

“Did you really like it that much, my dear?” He laughs when Tonya finally stops. He’s dressed in a black bodysuit, tight enough to accentuate his entire body and there’s a thin layer of sweat over his forehead. To Tonya, he still looks as wonderful as ever.

“I absolutely loved it. I could never tire myself watching you,” She takes his hand in hers and gives him one last kiss on his cheek. Anne, one of the animal keepers and Tonya’s closest friend, walks past with a sly smile on her face as she leads Balthazar – one of the two lions – to his cage.

“I certainly hope so,” Harold responds. He tells her to wait as he changes into his normal clothes, so Tonya goes to the direction Anne disappeared. She met Anne after Harold’s first performance, a young woman of Tonya’s age who splits her time between Barnum’s Museum and the diner across the street. They had immediately bonded over their common interests, spending time almost every day when Tonya would visit Anne during her breaks. They’d talk over a cup of coffee, never having words to run out of as they talked about Tonya’s married life and Anne’s constant mishaps with men. Anne was beautiful. Her naturally tanned skin made the blue of her eyes pop out. She had curly hair that bounced even with a slight movement of her head. She was tall – fit and curvy where it needed to be – and manages to look like a goddess in everything that she wears.

“Harold’s g’nna have a good time tonight,” Anne greets in a singsong as she fondles Balthazar, his nose rubbing against Angela’s. Tonya kneels beside Balthazar, who’s body is half inside and half outside his cage, and strokes his fur.

“Good evening, Balthazar,” She coos, pointedly ignoring Anne’s comment. Anne playfully rolls her eyes at that.

“I see, you’ve prioritized a lion over me now. Who’s next, I wonder?”

“You are too dramatic, Anne. I feel sorry for your husband, whoever he may be.” Tonya watches as Anne guides Balthazar completely inside his cell. She locks the cage, double checks, and then turns around to face Tonya.

“When you say that twice a day, every day, it almost loses its meaning.”

“It doesn’t lose the truth, though.” Tonya replies immediately, which earns a laugh from Anne. Harold eventually joins them, and Tonya bids her farewell to Anne as they leave.

 

The next day, Tonya wakes up to an empty bed. There’s a note written by Harold beside their bed – a usual habit of his – where he writes a quote personally addressed to her. Today, it was ‘ _and if you’re ever wondering where I am, I’m still falling for you.’_ Tonya smiles, reading it one more time before she keeps it in her box. It’s almost full with tiny notes. Harold started doing it when he realized he’d have to go for training earlier. He wanted to explore what more he can do with his body. He practiced in Barnum’s Museum for the sake of feeling comfortable in his performance area. Tonya used to watch him during his first few days, but soon found herself rushing to work immediately after that – often arriving late.

She reaches work at 8am sharp, for which she’s thankful for. The morning passes in a flurry, customers faces all a blur as she gives them their change. She leaves for her break at 1, timed in such a manner that it’s only a 20 minute walk to where Anne works, which gives her 20 minutes with Anne, and 20 minutes to return. Tonya brings up the strange man she met the night before, how he entered the building only when the show was over, and looked so eager to continue his conversation with her. Anne laughs, passing a remark on how strange men tend to take interest in her, while only desperate men took an interest in Anne herself. Tonya gives a sad smile at the unfortunate luck of her close friend, and finishes her coffee.

When Tonya exited the diner, her eyes landed on the entrance of Barnum’s Museum across the street. There was a man standing there, hands in his pockets and facing the entrance. People walked past him while he stands there unmoving. A few seconds later, the man turns, showing his profile just enough that Tonya recognizes him as the man from last night. And then, as if sensing her presence watching him, turns completely until his eyes land on her. She immediately looks away, embarrassed at being caught, but not before seeing familiarity flashing across his face. She starts walking, and even if she walks a little faster than usual, she doesn’t admit it to herself. From behind her, the man had already crossed the road and was lightly jogging to catch up with her rapid pace. She hears him before she sees him, slowing her pace as the man joins beside her.

“Oh, thank god,” The man sighs once he gets a close enough look at Tonya’s face. “I wasn’t sure if it was you. It would have been a little absurd seeing me stalk towards a random lady.”

“It is still absurd,” Tonya says, increasing her pace, frowning when he does too.

“Bit of a hurry there.”

“My shift starts in 10 minutes, and I have 15 minutes to get there.”

“I’ll walk along with you then. I’ve been told I’m excellent company,” the man offers, and from the corner of her eyes she can see him grinning.

“I don’t need–“ She stops when her eyes land on him, eyebrows raised in hope and a small smile on his lips. “Alright. But I’m a fast walker.”

“I’m sure I can catch up,” he says airily. Tonya increases her pace even more, her feet barely having time to settle before being lifted off the ground again. The man, who’s much taller than her, easily falls into stride with her.

“I’m Loki.”

“Tonya.” She tries to hold herself back on asking more about his name. She’d never come across a name like his before, so she flicks through numerous possibilities of where he could be from. He certainly didn’t have American features, so maybe European. He sounds American, possibly because he settled here many years ago. She thinks about any slight difference in his speech to identify his ethnicity, but it’s purely American. But also, too gentle to be American.

“If you think any harder, you might trip and fall.” His voice snaps her back into reality. She mumbles a soft _sorry_ and they continue their walk in silence. Eventually it turns into a habit. At first Tonya was hesitant, trying her best to avoid him, but over time his personality managed to work its magic and she’d find herself being accompanied by him back to her work everyday.

 

She had told Anne about it, how the strange man from the first night, _His name’s Loki, by the way. Odd, right?_ , would always wait for her outside the diner and join her while she walked back to work. Anne had given her a wary look, _I hope he knows you’re married_ , after which Tonya holds up her right hand, her ring glinting in response, _obviously he does. Also,_ Tonya had added to ease her own conscience, _I’ve talked about you and Harold several times. He knows._

“Do you not tire from working here?” Loki asks her one day, looking around as he entered the shop. The shop had a little bit of everything, really, people often came and sold their belongings here for money. Books, clothes, pocket watches, smoking pipes, jewelry, paintings, sculptures – everything.

“I do not. Do you not tire from following me around everyday?” Tonya shoots back, slightly offended at the tone Loki had used, as if working here was a burden. Wrong question, apparently, because Loki turns to her with a _look._

“I do not.” Loki repeats, smiling. Tonya immediately breaks eye contact and starts fiddling with the cash box.

That was why, many days later, when Loki kisses her, she blames herself for not seeing it coming. There was nothing out of the ordinary that day. Loki had walked her back to the store, and had planted himself next to the bookshelf, barely taking time to read as he flipped through the pages. She had a pile of books in her hand, placing them around the shelves according to the title and genre. She should’ve seen it coming when she asked Loki to place a book on one of the higher shelves. He’s standing right in front of her, while she faced him with her back against the bookshelf, watching as he reaches up and inserts the book between two. Tonya’s about to say _that’s not where it goes_ when she realizes their close proximity. She’s at eye contact with his neck, his hand placed on the shelf beside her that has her cornered on all three sides. She looks up at him, not in the least bit surprised that he’s focused on her face. His eyes are burning into hers, and too late she notices his gaze flicker to her lips which was immediately followed by his lips on hers. It takes her a second to shove him away, bringing up her left hand in the space between them. Loki glances at her hand, eyes widening as if seeing her ring for the first time.

\---

Loki has paled, lips moving in an attempt to say something as his gaze flickers from Tonya to the wedding ring on her finger. _This has never happened before, why did I not notice she was married? Fool!_

“How dare you, Loki?” Tonya shouts, venom seeping into her words. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, as if wiping the memory of Loki’s mouth, and he almost crumbles. He can feel the million profanities she’s throwing at him with her glare. “Do you know what this ring means? I would never have thought you, of all people, to place yourself above it.”

Loki can do nothing but stare helplessly. He thinks back to all their conversations. She had never mentioned a marriage, or a husband. The only people she ever talked about were Harold and Anne. Harold was – _Oh, Norns._ _How did I not realize this sooner._ Harold was _Tonya’s_ husband, not Anne’s. Why did he ever assume it as such? He thinks of the first time she mentioned Harold.

_“You remind me so much of Harold, he behaves just like you. He’s a good man, and surprisingly, an even better husband. Maybe I should introduce you to Anne too, she’ll love you.”_

_“Anne is the one you meet at the diner?”_

_“That’s the one. Harold and Anne work together at the museum. That’s where they met, and that’s how I met Anne.”_  

Loki internally curses. Maybe his seidr guided him to the wrong person but – _Tonya._ That’s too big of a coincidence to ignore. There’s nothing he can do now, not in this lifetime at least.

Unless. 

“You dare assume –“

With a movement of his fingers, Loki casts a spell, clearing the last ten minutes from Tonya’s mind. She freezes, and then, her eyes roll backwards and Loki catches her right before her unconscious self hits the ground.

\--- 

There’s a throbbing pain in her head when Tonya comes to her senses. Loki’s worried face greets her when she opens her eyes, and she looks around. She’s still in the shop.

“You lost consciousness. Hit your head when you fell. Are you alright?” Loki asks, who’s on one knee and crouching beside her. He looks so concerned and scared that Tonya almost smiles.

“I’m alright.” She replies, sitting up from where she was lying on the floor.

“When was the last time you ate?”

“I didn’t have much to eat today, just two cups of coffee,” A pause, as she tries to remember whether she really did have anything else. “I think.”

“Okay. That’s not good. Stay here. I’ll get you something to eat.” Loki immediately stands up and walks to where his coat was hung.

“Stay here, on the floor?”

“You decide.”

 

The fire happens two days later. Tonya rushes out of the shop when she hears screams and people yelling. She spots a large cloud of black smoke painting the evening sky with shades of orange and black. It takes her a moment to realize that it’s coming in the direction of Barnum’s Museum, another second to realize that it _is_ the museum. Panic takes over, and without thinking, she races towards the building that’s going up in flames. Her mind reeled with thoughts of Harold and Anne. _Please be safe. Please be safe._ She hopes they got out on time, hopes that the fire didn’t spread rapidly. She runs as fast as she can, like she’s never run before, bumping and shoving people out of the way. When she sees bright orange flames engulfing the building, she stops short. There’s fire out the windows, out the doors. The air is hot and scalding across her face, beads of sweat forming on her forehead and neck. Her eyes desperately starts searching the crowd huddled in front of the museum. She starts walking closer, spotting several of the performers at the museum. Mr Barnum’s there, silent and staring at what was left of his building submitting itself to the fire. There’s no sign of Harold, or Anne, and she feels tears prick at the corner of her eyes. _Please. No. I can’t lose them both._ She starts wading through the crowd of performers, yelling out Harold and Anne’s names, each cry more desperate than the previous. _Have you seen Harold? Do you know where Anne is? Were they in the building? Where did you see them last?_

She receives no help, each performer for themselves. _They might be in there_. And the possibility that they might, has Tonya running closer to the building. She has to get inside, she has to. She hears shouts of protests behind her as she nears the entrance. The heat is painful and sizzling against her skin, and her stretched forearm is struck by a stray flame. She lets out a cry –  but the pain is nothing compared to the possibility that Harold and Anne might be burning to death inside. She retreats slowly, knowing it would be suicide to enter the building at this point, when someone yelling out her name catches her attention. Her head is whipped back so fast she almost sprains her neck, and she sees Anne running towards her. Anne who’s clean and safe and not burnt.

“Tonya! What are you doing? Come back here!” Anne slows to a stop a safe distance away from the fire and the ash that’s raining up them. Tonya wastes no time running towards her and enveloping her with a bone crushing hug.

“Oh my God. Look at your face! What were you thinking?” Anne starts wiping the patches of ash and grey smeared across Tonya’s face. Her tears and sweat made the ash form like clumps around her skin.

“Anne. I couldn’t see you when I arriv- I was so worried. So I thought you were- But you weren’t. But Harold’s nowhere to be found and the- He said he would be here. But he’s not- neither were you and I don’t know, I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you both.” Tonya’s rambling, barely allowing her sentences to finish before she moves onto the next. Anne pulls her into another hug to shut her up, which –  well, works.

“Please find Harold.” Her voice was barely a whisper. It was pained, as if she dreaded the state he would be found in.

“Okay. Stay here. Just give me a minute.” Anne excuses herself and moves to the crowd of performers, still whispering and talking in fright at how close they were to their deaths. Anne’s absence is immediately replaced by another figure who had managed to sneak up to her. A hand is placed on her shoulder, warm and comforting, and Tonya’s head snaps up in hope that _maybe_ Harold came back. She meets the sympathetic gaze of P.T Barnum. She’s met him several times during dinner parties and events hosted by him. Anne had introduced her to Mrs. Barnum, who was, coincidentally also named Anne. Anne and Mrs. Barnum often spent time together, and once Tonya was invited to the Barnum mansion to chat with the other women, she’d often see Mr. Barnum there.

“Mr. Barnum, I’m so sorry for what has happened-“ Tonya starts, but is gently cut off by him.

“Don’t worry, darlin’. I think I’m getting too old for the circus business anyways,” He dismisses it, as if his entire life isn’t burning down right behind him. “Say, where’s Harold? I didn’t see him during the evacua-“ Tonya’s face is enough to cut off Barnum’s sentence, so he backtracks. “The building was clear. There won’t be any casualties.” A pause. And then, “He’s probably at home, Tonya. Waiting for you. I’m sure he’s more worried than you are.”

“How do you know the building was clear?”

“It started out as a small fire, so we had almost an hour to evacuate before the whole building went up in flames. Certainly gave us enough time to check if anyone was left behind.” He sees Tonya’s face transition to slight relief, and that’s when his eyes land on the severe burn mark on her arm. He immediately takes her arm in his hold, eyes widening at the mark that spanned from the back of her wrist to her below.

“Darlin’! You need to get medical care for this. This is a second degree burn!” Tonya’s eyes widen, as if only realizing the pain that is shooting through her arm. The skin is inflamed and pink and painful to look at. Mr. Barnum looks around and then starts guiding her to his vehicle. Tonya’s so focused on the horrible sight of her arm that she doesn’t realize Loki had started making his way towards her until he stopped right in front of them.

“Gods, Tonya. What were you thinking?” Loki whispers, once he registers the sight of her. Parts of her clothes were singed and burnt, dark prints of ash scattered all over her clothing and skin. There’s droplets of ash settled on her hair that had somehow turned into a frenzied mess. There’s a mixture of sweat and tears on her cheek that only darkens the ash on her face.

“I’ve been getting a lot of that lately,” She managed a small smile. Loki instinctively reaches out and places his hand against the side of her face, thumb swiping at the ash on her cheek. Tonya senses Mr. Barnum cast a wary glance at the action, and then suspiciously settles his gaze on Loki. Tonya moves away from the touch and looks at Mr. Barnum.

“Thank you, Mr. Barnum. He’s an acquaintance, he’ll make sure I’m alright.” Tonya sees Anne approaching from over Mr. Barnum’s shoulder. “Anne’s here too. You don’t have to worry.” Mr. Barnum finally agrees after hearing Anne’s name. He squeezes her shoulder, says a ‘ _take care,’_ and takes his leave.

 

There’s white bandage wrapped all around her right forearm as Loki walks her back to her house. Anne had accompanied them until the intersection where the road split, one leading to Anne’s street and the other leading to Tonya’s. She’s thinking – praying – that Harold would be home waiting for her. They had checked her store and he wasn’t there either. Their home is the only place he could be. _What if he’s not?_ A nasty voice at the back of her head questions, and Tonya visibly shudders. Loki, as if sensing, speaks.

“You worry too much.”

“I think that’s one of my rights as a wife.” She snaps, hating how calm and composed Loki seemed. Harold doesn’t have a job anymore, which means that they’ll have to rely on Tonya’s wages for the time being. It’s certainly not enough to cover their rent and their daily needs. She _doesn’t even know_ if Harold is safe, or alive for that matter. She’s so immersed in her thoughts she barely hears Loki’s next words.

“The lights are off.”

_No no no no no no no no no no._ Her eyes land on her house. The windows are shut, and she can see the house enveloped in darkness.

“Oh God,” She chokes out as tears start pricking her eyes. Her vision is blurry as she runs towards her house, Loki right at her heels. She fumbles with the doormat frantically, breathing rapid and shaky. A small cry escapes her mouth when she realizes the key is under the mat. Harold wasn’t home.

The fire had one human casualty.


	5. 1842 (2)

They’re all there for the funeral – Loki, Anne, Mr. Barnum and all the other performers. The day passed by in a blur for Tonya, condolences and memories of Harold all morphing into meaningless words. Anne had held her hand throughout the funeral, and even after everyone left – except for Loki and Mr. Barnum – Anne stood firmly by her side. Tonya’s eyes were distant, unfocused, as her mind raced through all the memories she’d had with Harold. Every moment she spent with him, from the day she saw him on the street, remained close to her heart.

“Tonya,” Mr. Barnum approached her once everyone had left. “If you are ever in need of anything – a friend, a job, a home, or even cash – please do not hesitate to approach me. Harold was a dear friend, and your wellbeing is important to me and my wife.”

Tony gave a small nod. Mr. Barnum’s offer for help was incredibly kind, and she should have said a _thank you_ , maybe even smiled but her words seemed to betray her every time she thought of speaking.

“I shall take my leave now. I hope you don’t mind me checking on you too often,” He smiles, and Tonya’s lips pulled into a small smile as she watches him leave.

“C’mon honey, let’s get you home.” Anne places her hand around Tonya’s arms and starts moving her. “Loki, are you comin’?” She tilted her head back slightly, eyes landing on where Loki stood staring down at the empty coffin. His body language was odd, fingers twitching at his sides as he frowned down at the coffin with pursed lips. His head slowly turns to Anne, frown only deepening when he sees Tonya’s hunched figure.

“I’m sorry, I just remembered I have something else to do. I will meet you at the house.”

Anne shrugs, unbothered about his strange behaviour, and guides Tonya out of the cemetery. When Tonya turns back, Loki’s nowhere to be seen.

\-----------

The minute they turned around; Loki teleported out of the cemetery. He’s greeted with the sight of his daughter, who’s anything but surprised at his sudden experience, giving credit to all the other times he popped into existence in front of her. There’s an amused smile playing on her lips as if she’s already aware of the conversation that’s just around the corner.

“How is he, father?” Hel asks, and Loki narrows his eyes at her in doubt.

“She,” Loki corrects, and his suspicion is cleared when he realizes she already knew that, because Hel only smiles in response. “She is doing well, I suppose.”

“You suppose?”

“She believes her husband to be dead.” Loki mutters.

“He’s alive, then.” Hel says, and Loki could sense the frown forming on her face – _the disappointment_ – when she pieces together what Loki had done. “Father, tell me you didn’t.” There’s a shuffle of clothing as Hel sat up from where she was seated, silent footsteps coming closer before they stopped right next to him.

“He’s safe.” Loki supplies unhelpfully, and stops short when he meets Hel’s glare. “I’ve erased his memories of her, and anyone else familiar to him.”

“Where is he, then?”

“Somewhere in Europe.” Loki tries to avoid her gaze, but his daughter earned the same piercing glare that he treasures on his own face.

“Suppose someone recognizes him?”

“I’ve placed a glamour on him. There are subtle differences on his face, and they’ll remain till his last breath.” His voice turns softer. “It was what I had to do.”

“No, father. It is what you wanted to do. If she ever finds out– “

“What I _wanted_ to do was kill him!” Loki interrupts, eyes flashing. “She was with someone who didn’t deserve her, who didn’t know her like I did – _do_. She will be happier with me.”

“You cannot know that. For all you know, you have completely deprived her life from the happiness she deserved. You are blinded by love, father. You have known her for lifetimes, but she is still changing. She may not have to love you the same in every lifetime, and she is certainly not obliged to. You have wronged her, father, and it is disappointing to me that you don’t see it in that manner.”

It takes time for Hel’s words to sink in, the possibility that this reincarnation of his lover may not actually love him - that they were not destined to be as such. He couldn’t let his daughter sway him so easily, so he tries again.

“I merely gave her a chance to assess her emotions. That sad excuse of a husband _never_ spent time with her, and she remained stupidly oblivious to the way he prioritised his work over his _wife._ ”

“You don’t know what you speak of, father. If I recall correctly, you admitted to not knowing she was married until it was too late. How would you, who did not notice a ring on her finger, be able to speak so boldly about her life as if you know all?”

Loki glares at Hel, and teleports back to Midgard.

\-----

The box is in her lap, her hands flitting through the several notes that Harold had written for her over the months. It was terrifying how something that she had grown to love could only bring her more pain the longer she spent time reading them. She opened the next one.

‘ _You deserve a love that always feels like summer.’_

_‘My love, you are worth it all.’_

Her hands were trembling, vision turning blurry as she felt tears well up in her eyes. There was a stinging feeling in her heart that knows she’ll never receive his notes again, knows that she’ll never be able to feel his love, never be able to love another like she loved him. A small cry escapes her mouth.

‘ _It’s as if very atom in my body gravitates towards you.’_

“How is she?” Tonya suddenly hears Loki’s distant voice, or maybe he is only speaking softly. She can’t tell. She hears Anne respond, the words too soft and lost in the air, after which a knock sounds at her door. Tonya barely has time to speak when the door is pushed open to reveal Loki.

“I thought you might need some company.”

“Thank you,” Tonya whispers, wiping any sign of dried tears from her cheeks before looking up at Loki who had slowly walked over to where she sat. Loki hesitantly sits beside her, the bed dipping under his weight. There’s a silence, neither of them knowing what to say, or even ask. Finally, Tonya speaks.

“Where did you go?”

“I had an emergency,” Loki says, and that’s all Tonya gets from him. She can feel Loki’s eyes glance down at the open box in her lap, her hands clutching onto the note as if the words may spill out of them any second. She senses the sudden flicker of his gaze thrown at her face before Loki speaks, cautious.

“Is that his?”

“Yes,” She looks down at the note in her hand, feeling her vision turning blurry again. “He used to write notes for me, every morning before he left for work. This is the only thing that reminds me of – of him. I can’t – oh god – I miss him so much.” Uncontrollable tears are streaming down her face, shoulders shaking with every shaky breath. Loki pulls her closer, the side of her body against his chest as he rubs circles on her back.

“I am so sorry, Tonya. What happened to him was horrible. He – you both deserved better. But he would not want you to shed tears with every thought of him. Cherish the memories you shared with him; remember the times he made you happy, the times you made _him_ happy.”

“He didn’t – He didn’t deserve it.” Her words are barely comprehensible, muffled through sobs and heavy breathing. Her tears were forming wet spots on Loki’s shirt. “We were so happy. He finally belonged. All his life, he grew as an outcast and – and finally when he gets a family –“ She doesn’t finish her sentence, interrupting herself with loud cries. She pulls out another note from the box, fingers fumbling to open it as gently as possible.

‘ _I loved you long before I knew it was love.’_

Loki’s hand had stilled against her back, both quiet and unmoving as they read the note together. The only sound in the room is Tonya’s soft whimpers. A desperate cry forms from within her as she reads the next note, followed by a sharp intake of breath from Loki when he reads it too.

‘ _and if you’re ever wondering where I am, I’m still falling for you.’_

“Tonya…” Loki whispers, and it’s so soft and full of concern that Tonya is reminded of the way Harold used to talk to her. What is she doing, comparing her husband to a man she met only a month ago? A single tear that had rolled all the way down to her jaw, drops onto the note and forms a wet stain on the paper. “I am so sorry. If only I didn’t – If only we could’ve prevented this from happening.” Tonya’s silent after that, choosing not to comment on the guilt she identified in his voice, and the way he cut off his own sentence. They sit still like that for a long time, only her soft silent sobs filling the room until the day turns to night and the room is enveloped in darkness.

 

“You know you’re supposed to be living two floors below, yes?” Tonya pops her head out of the kitchen, eyes landing on Loki who was lounging on her sofa and reading a book. It had been several months since the fire now, giving Tonya enough time to restart her life again. She moved out of their house two months after the funeral, the little box of notes being the only memory of Harold that she clung to. She moved to an apartment that had opened up in the building that Loki lived in, and him living in close proximity was only an added benefit to the shift.

“There are quite a lot of things I’m _supposed_ to act upon,” is all Loki says, never taking his eyes of the book. He had started spending more time at her apartment, a habit that had formed when, in the beginning, Tonya could barely get out of her bed. She often retreated back to her bedroom, closing her eyes as she lay down and imagined Harold’s presence beside her; as if one day she would turn and Harold would be there; as if one day Harold wouldn’t be dead anymore.

“Alright. Well, don’t think I’ll be mothering you for too long,” She replies, walking back to the kitchen only to hear the faint sound of a book snapping shut, followed by Loki asking, “What does that mean?”

Tonya doesn’t reply, realizing her mistake in telling Loki that piece of information she had stored away for later. There’s a movement of fabric against the couch and then strong footsteps making its way to the kitchen. Loki appears at the edge of her sight, and she tries her best to not look at him while she busies herself with the cooking.

“What did you mean?” Loki presses. Realizing that he wasn’t going to give up anytime soon, Tonya sighs. She switches off the flame and turns to Loki, whose forehead was already creasing with a frown.

“A few weeks ago, I had a severe breakdown. I – I realized that everyone, and everything in this city reminds me of – “ She stops. Breathes, and continues. “I started looking for jobs outside the city, and I thought, why stop there? I’m still young, I could restart my life. I could work in Europe – Paris, maybe. I’m sure there are several opportunities for me there. I just – I wanted to get away from _here._ ”

“You don’t have to do this. Manhattan is your home. We –”

“ _Harold_ was my home,” She interrupts, fists clenched at her sides. “Manhattan is just a place.”

“Am I just a someone, then?” Loki asks, and she has to tear her eyes away from the sight of how wounded he looks.

“Loki. You, of all people, know what I’ve been forced to go through. The least you can do is understand.”

That seemed to have worked on Loki, because just as he’s opening his mouth to speak, he shuts them closed. He gives out a resigned sigh through his nose, lips pursed as he watches Tonya.

“I’m sorry, I really am. I appreciate everything that you have done for me. You, Anne, Mr. Barnum – everyone. I could never repay any of you for all the time you have spent with me, _on_ me, taking care of me. Harold’s death has left a gaping hole in my heart, and staying in the same place, and surrounding myself with the same people is doing nothing to help me heal.”

“Then I’m coming with you. To Paris, Europe, wherever.” Loki finally says, sounding determined as ever.

“What? Loki, that’s stupid. You have a –“

“I have a what? I don’t know anyone in Manhattan, Tonya, save for you and Anne. I can’t let you go to a whole other continent, and face the risk of something happening to you if my presence could have prevented it.”

“Loki, the whole idea of me moving from here is to _get away._ You can’t just come with me.”

“You wanted to get away from people who remind you of Harold. Yes? How do I remind you of him?”

“I don’t _know_!” She almost screams, and then repeats softer. “I don’t know. It’s just the way you care so much for me, or the way you talk to me and behave with me that I always end up thinking of Harold when I’m with you.” She finally looks at Loki, who looks like he’s just been shot in the gut – face as pale as a white sheet, framing wide shocked eyes.

“Tonya… you cannot be saying that any time someone looks at you with care or love in their eyes, you are reminded of your dead husband? You can’t live your life like that.”

“I can’t live my life _at all_ without him.” Her eyes grow glassy, tears filled to the brim and threatening to spill. She mumbles a soft, “I just want him back,” and Loki almost misses it.

\-------------

“I am so sorry,” Loki whispers. He could never stop saying it, could never forgive himself for doing what he did to Harold. He could’ve never guessed the lasting impact it would have on Tonya, could never have imagined that she would be so broken.

“You keep saying that, but it’s not your fault.” She’s about to switch on the stove again. It was an act of dismissal – an attempt to preoccupy herself so that she wouldn’t have to continue the conversation. Loki should’ve stayed quiet, could’ve let the conversation at that.

“It is.”

A pause; a wary glance cast in his direction, and then, softly:

“… What?” He doesn’t miss the single step she takes backwards, increasing the space between them. He hopes it wasn’t a conscious movement. “What are you saying?”

“He’s – I’m responsible. For what happened.” There was no turning back now, but there was nothing else he could do to clear the guilt. He would’ve been forced to see Tonya spend years mourning over her husband, would’ve been forced to see the pain in her eyes every time she went through his notes. She was broken in every sense, and it was entirely Loki’s fault. He had let his feelings cloud his judgment, and now he has to watch as the love of his life spends the rest of her days in misery.

“Loki,” a pained whisper. There’s fear in her eyes, and an uncomfortable hesitation in her voice when she speaks again. “Did you kill him? _Did you kill my husband?”_

“No! Tonya, I would never.” He blurts out, his heart swelling in fear that she would even consider the possibility. But with what he had done to Harold, Loki realizes it was worse than death. Wiping his memories, wiping his identity and relocating him to a foreign country. A shiver runs through him when he speaks the next words. “He’s alive.”

“ _What?”_ She nearly screams, her eyes flashing in raw anger. “How _dare you. Loki_ , we had a _funeral–“_

_“_ But there was no body, was there?” Loki points out. He sees her face crumble for a brief second before it recovers, angrier than before.

“He was burnt to a _crisp!”_ Her hands are waving wildly in between them, releasing the pent up anger with rapid movements. “You were there, you _saw_ what happened to the museum.”

Loki doesn’t say anything; he purses his lips and stands there. His fingers are twitching by his side, his siedr _begging_ to act upon this scenario. He stays still, however, watching as emotions flicker through her face until realization that he speaks the truth finally dawns on her.

“He’s _alive?_ And you _knew?_ You – you let me suffer for months, let me _mourn_ him for months and now it turns out he’s _alive_?” She starts walking towards him, eyeing him with such hatred that Loki actually fears for his life. He has nothing left to lose now, he’s completely destroyed any possibility of being close to her in this lifetime.

“Tonya, I – I didn’t know. I thought – thought that maybe, if something happened to him then you –“ He’s not able to finish, because Tonya immediately cuts him off. Her palms were hard on his chest, pushing him back with such force that Loki staggers backwards.

“Then I _what?_ Then I’ll move on? I’ll love _you?_ That _we’d be together?”_ Venom oozes from her voice as she grits out the words through clenched teeth. Loki has nothing to say in response, so she continues. “You said you were responsible. If you didn’t kill him, then what did you do?”

She takes a step forward, and Loki reflexively takes a step back.

“ _What did you do?!”_

And that was a question Loki couldn’t answer, was a question he could never answer because ultimately it would lead to him having to expose his own identity. Things can only go worse from here, either Tonya would be absolutely terrified of him, unable to live past the trauma of what he had done out of pure _selfishness_ , or she would let out her anger with words that Loki would never be able to forget, anger that was caused by him. Which is why, without thinking of its impact on her, he looks her straight in the eye, and disappears in a shimmer of green.

 

He finds out several days later, when Anne comes to visit and he was conveniently eavesdropping, that Tonya had been planning to leave Harold. They were both working individuals, and if they barely had time for one another, how could they have started a family? Her words are a blubbering mess as she speaks, coming to terms with thoughts that had been growing in her mind for months. Harold’s death had come as a wave of shock to her, and the guilt she had felt turned into anger towards herself for ever thinking of leaving him. Harold, who had always ensured she was happy; always ensured that she woke up to a note that expressed his love for her, who introduced her to a wonderful life, and wonderful friends. She was overcompensating for his death, feeling emotions that she wouldn’t have felt if he were alive.  She told Anne about what happened with Loki, and he was forced to listen as she confessed to a growing feeling that she had towards him; forced to listen as she sobbed over how badly she had spoken to him, _accused_ him of doing something horrible to Harold. She had left out the part where Loki had disappeared in front of her, but instead continued on the guilt she felt when her feelings for Loki grew over time, she _anger_ she felt for dismissing Harold so quickly, for _disrespecting_ his existence. Anne listens, quietly, calmly, as she rubs circles on her back and whispering soothing words like “It’s not your fault,” “It’ll be okay,” “Feelings change,” and so on. Loki would’ve scoffed at the false comfort in the words, if it weren’t for the gut twisting revelation that Tonya had actually grown to like him, was willing to _leave_ Harold before Loki had messed everything.

It takes every fiber of his being avoid revealing himself to them from where he was safely hidden behind an invisibility spell. He teleports back to his chambers and isolates himself from everyone else.  

The next time he decides to visit her, his eyes land on a much older figure of his lover, a visible hunch on her back with skin sagging down from her bones. She had stayed in Manhattan, in the same apartment that Loki had walked out of several years ago. He watches as she drifts off to a deep sleep, white hair fanning the pillow where her head lay. He watches as she takes her last breath, lying deep in slumber on her bed. And beside her, on the night stand, there’s an old metal box, half open to reveal torn pieces of notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, so I just wanted to clear out that while Loki's often seen as always being a step ahead, a pro at hiding his feelings and an extremely clever asshole, he sort of tends to let down his guard when it comes to, well, the different incarnations of his lover. He slips sometimes because he's so immersed in his love her him/her, that eventually ends up doing things blindly which really doesn't work out for him. He's never faced his soulmate (yes, that's what I'm calling it now) being in love with someone else that surely, it has to be a mistake right? So, cue Loki fucking everything up in an attempt to gain his life with her, which would've happened anyway if he had waited.


	6. 1918

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i don't even know what to say about how late this update is  
> i. am. so. sorry.

Amiens, France – 1918.

 

The smell of gunpowder filled the air, with sounds of bullets whizzing past him as he tried to stop the bleeding from his abdomen. He was well sheltered from the enemy lines at the front, but not from the stray bullet had ricocheted from another direction and sliced itself through the side of his torso. His palms were digging into the open wound, desperately trying to control the bleeding but it proved effortless when his palms started coating itself with his blood, bleeding out through the gaps in his fingers until he could feel the consciousness slipping away from him.  A low groan emerged from inside his throat, his eyes rapidly blinking to keep himself awake and to keep his vision clear. There were silhouettes moving in the distance, preoccupied with firing at their enemies to even notice Antoine – whose life was draining out of him and onto the battleground. He lets out a shaky breath, almost coming to terms with his inevitable death when a voice makes him blink open his eyes.

There was a man in front of him, dressed in the Allied uniform – which eases Antonie slightly but not before he tenses up again, because the man had appeared out of nowhere and looked rather strange in the uniform – as if he didn’t really belong in it. Also, the uniform was _clean,_ like the man had _just_ put it on. His uniform was absent from any form of dirt, face looking like it was freshly washed and hands that lacked any trace of gunpowder. There was no time to dwell on that thought, because the man’s frantic eyes were flicking across Antonie’s face, as if looking for some sort of reaction, and when there was nothing except tensed confusion, the man’s eyes scanned down Antoine’s body until it stopped on the open, bleeding wound.

“Oh, this is bad.” The man mumbled to himself, before green eyes flicked back to pierce Antoine’s. “What’s your name? Tony? Anton?”

“Antoine. You were close,” A sharp gasp escaped his mouth when pain shot up from his abdomen. He gave a slight wince before levelling the other man with a suspicious look. “How’d you know?”

“Lucky guess.” The man shrugged in response, in a manner that was far too casual, before changing the topic. “Stay with me, Antoine. I will get you out of here.”

“We’re in the middle of a _war_ – I’m as good as dead. Save yourself, man. You gotta…” Antoine tried protesting, trailing off as his eyes followed the movement of the other man’s hand. The man’s hand was reaching towards Antoine’s wound which still had both his own palms pressing against it. There was a moment of contact, and Antoine’s surroundings went black.

 

It was daylight when Antoine came to his senses. He tried sitting up, realized it took more effort than it usually takes him, only to look down and notice the thick bandage wrapped around his abdomen.

“Good morning,” A voice comes from his right, a little further away. Antoine shifts his gaze to the source of the voice, squinting slightly from the daylight that flooded through the window behind the figure. It took a flew blinks, but his eyes soon focused on the face of the familiar man that he saw on the battlefield. He’s able to see him more clearly now. The helmet that the man had worn on the battlefield had hidden the jet black hair that was grown out till his neck, neatly combed back. The man’s face had seemed cold and expressionless at first glance, but Antoine noticed the warmth in the man’s eyes. Green pools of emerald – so strikingly beautiful that he wouldn’t have believed it real if the man wasn’t right in front of him.

Suddenly, a feeling of heaviness settled in his heart. Dread built up in his chest as he registered the circumstances that brought them here.

“Did,” His own voice came out scratchy and hoarse. Clearing his throat, Antoine continued. “Did we win?”

“Yes. I believe we did,” The man said, pink lips stretching to reveal a smile. The man’s voice is smooth, with an English accent that sounded too posh compared to the other British soldiers Antoine had briefly met. “It’s been two days.”

“Oh!” Antoine sighed, throwing his head back as a silent prayer to the gods above. “That’s great. Shit.” He looked at the man again, locking eyes. “We won.”

“We won,” the man repeated, still smiling. Antoine mirrored the smile, which soon transitioned into small bursts of laughter.

The man looked really beautiful smiling, Antoine decides.

He later learns the man’s name is Loki, which is odd, because it doesn’t really sound English.

When the nurse – Noella – comes to change the bandage around Antoine abdomen, he notices that his wound is barely noticeable. It’s only a dark discolouration, and Antoine may not know much about medicine, or bullet wounds, but it doesn’t at all look like the way a bullet wound is supposed to – especially when it’s only been two days. There’s no medicine in the world that could’ve healed him so fast.

“What happened to the bullet wound?” Antoine asks, and the incredulous look he receives from Noella makes him feel stupid for asking.

“There is no bullet wound, dear. You have a broken rib. I assume something hard hit you, maybe the butt of a gun. The discolouration is right here, see? It’s a mighty big bruise, but it’ll go in a few days.”

“What? _No,_ I was _shot._ Right here, where the bruise is. Maybe you didn’t find the bullet because it went straight through me, but I was _shot._ ” A frantic glance at Loki’s direction, who suddenly looked very nervous. “Loki, _tell her_. I was shot. There was blood, remember?”

Loki stares at Antoine, takes a deep breath, and: “What are you talking about? Antoine, there was no blood.”

“ _What do you mean?_ Loki, you were there. You saw my hands – they were covered in _my blood!_ I had an open wound! I – I was _dying._ You said so yourself – I remember – something like ‘this is bad,’ or – or _something._ I remember!”

Loki opens his mouth to speak, only to be cut off by Noella who places a gentle hand on Antoine’s shoulder.

“There are many cases of patients hallucinating when they’re in extreme pain, dear. Breaking a rib is certainly not painless. You must have imagined the bullet wound, what with all the bullets being fired around you.”

Another desperate look at Loki, who only nods in agreement at the Noella’s words.

“It’s the only thing that makes sense, Antoine.”

Antoine refuses to believe it, but he lets it go to save face. Noella tells him he’ll be on bed-rest for a few more days, where they can continue check-ups until his ribs show signs of healing.

Loki spends all of the next eight days in the hospital, mostly at Antoine’s bedside. They shared stories of their families, their lives before the war, their hometowns, their hobbies and everything under the sun. Antoine felt a peace in his mind that he had never felt before. Felt a strange rush of happiness every time Loki was around. Felt the urge to always want Loki with him, looking at him with green, green eyes full of charm and wit.

“Why don’t you go back home?” Antoine had asked one night, eyes shut and on the brink of falling asleep.

“Home is too far from here. I’d rather stay.”

“Good. I’d rather you stay, too.” It came out as a soft mumble, words barely filtered before sleep had consumed his mind.”

They learnt a lot about each other, knew each other like no one ever had, that when, after eight days, Antoine was informed about his discharge, both men didn’t know how to say goodbye.

Noella had just left after sharing the good news with Antoine. He was apparently healing miraculously faster than expected – _‘you can leave for home today if you wish, just fill out this form.’_ Antoine stared at the paper in his hands until he felt Loki’s gaze burning holes into his face. A hesitant flicker of his eyes to Loki’s and Antoine was exposed to all the sadness and hurt that Loki felt. It took several minutes of them staring at each other, both of them knowing that their time has come to an end.

“Where will you go?” Antoine asked. Not ‘ _I have to go,’_ not ‘ _thank you for helping me,’_ not ‘ _thank you for staying,’_ not ‘ _I’ll miss you,’_ and not ‘ _I love you.’_

“Somewhere,” Loki gives a sad smile, and then looks away. “Maybe travel a bit.”

Even though Loki can’t see him, Antoine nods, keeping his eyes fixed on Loki – memorizing the shape of his face, from his forehead to the slope of his nose to the curve of his lips, his dark lashes and brows that is a stark contrast against porcelain milky skin. Skin that holds no battle scars, a smile without a haunted past, eyes that carry no past trauma. Loki’s too perfect to be true.

There’s a question begging to be released from the hold of his mouth, at the tip of his tongue, and he would’ve asked if it weren’t for Loki’s gaze shifting towards him – piercing, pained, _sad –_ that the words die on his lips. Loki’s still smiling – the same sad smile that has Antoine’s heart twisting in pain – and when he speaks, he sounds resigned.

“I know what you’re thinking; but you have a family, Antoine.”

“Family doesn’t always have to mean home,” He replies, voice soft and shaky, but the implication is strong.

Loki smile twitched, as if his lips were almost pulling themselves into a genuine smile but he stopped it before it could go too far, stopped himself before his own thoughts could carry him to something of hopefulness, but lets himself fall victim to it anyway.

“Not always,” Loki agrees, and his smile isn’t sad anymore.

 

The pair traveled across Europe, months turning to years. They spent days, sometimes weeks at a place before resuming their travel. Antoine would be lying if he said he hadn’t wondered where Loki was getting his money from. Antoine never really had a lot to begin with, but Loki was insistent that Loki’s own money would be enough for them. All Loki had once said was that he came from a lot of family money, and that was that. Antoine didn’t bother delving into it, there was no reason for Loki to keep anything from him. Five years gone, and they still traveled. Neither of them spoke of settling down somewhere. They even spent time in Antoine’s hometown – Annecy – with Loki’s insistence for a few days. Antoine’s father was in a high position in the city council, and the longer Antoine spent at Annecy, especially with a strange man, was sure to turn some heads that will soon lead his father to him. Antoine showed Loki the streets he grew up in, the shopkeepers he used to steal from because he didn’t like the fact that everything was handed to him so easily because of his father’s riches, the place where he had his first kiss, the beach he used to swim in during the summers.

 

\-----

 

Loki watched Antoine, drinking in the sight of the man whose eyes were darting all across his surroundings, his sentences barely finishing before his gaze landed on something else of relevance and he started talking again. He listened intently, grabbing into every bit of information that gave him insight on this incarnation of his soul, understand every aspect of his lover’s life.

They were spending their third day in Annecy, was just walking down the street and taking in the sights when Antoine stilled beside him. The fingers entwined with his own loosened its hold, and Antoine steps faltered until they came to a halt. Loki stopped walking, turned back with a frown to see Antoine’s face white as a sheet, his gaze locked straight ahead, past Loki.

“What is it?” He asked, turning to where Antoine was looking. It was a rather empty street, save for a few people who were walking down the pavement, two women who were beside the road chatting amongst each other and across the road, a man leaning against his car and smoking a pipe.

“We have to go,” Antoine breathed out, still focused on something past Loki. It took a second for Antoine to snap out of his senses and spin on his heel in a hurry to walk away, but Loki was quicker. His wrist closed around Antoine’s, pulling him back until the man turned to face Loki again. Eyes flickering back and forth, never settling away for too long, Antoine looked extremely distracted.

“That’s my mama,” Antoine finally said, after Loki had pointedly raised his eyebrows. “She’s talking to another woman. Our neighbour, I think.”

“Do you wish to see her?”

A pained expression formed on his face when Antoine looked back at his mother. Still looking at her, he spoke.

“I do, but she may not wish to see me. She _can’t._ If she does…” Antoine trails off, eyes lowering and settling to where Loki still had his fingers around Antoine’s wrist. He cast another wary glance at his mother, and at that moment Loki figured out why Antoine hadn’t wanted going back home. Not when he was recovering three years ago, and not when Loki insisted that they come here during their travels.

Antoine’s parents had never accepted him.

“When did you tell them?”

“A few months before I enlisted. My father was furious, he said I was flawed. Mama was just disappointed. They made me feel like something was wrong with me for feeling that way. They were going to make me marry a girl,” Antoine paused, and motioned to his mother and the other woman, who were still talking to each other. “The neighbour’s daughter. So I enlisted. I figured I’d rather die than live a life that wasn’t me.”

Loki feels a surge of anger rushing through him, cursing Antoine’s parents for being so cruel to their son. To restrict someone from being who they are was inhumane, and Antoine didn’t deserve to be with them a second more. But he sees the longing expression that Antoine schooled when he saw his mother. Loki could never feel any form of hate towards Frigga, could never spare a thought of displeasure towards her no matter what. Antoine clearly loved – loves – his mother, and giving him the chance to see her up close was the least Loki could do. He leans forward and presses a kiss against Antoine’s forehead, casting a glamour on him at the same time. A green wave washed over Antoine, and unbeknownst to him, the man in front of Loki was suddenly a woman. Antoine would be the only one to see himself as the same.

“I’m glad I reached you when you were half dead, then.” Loki smiles, pulling back. Blue eyes met his, and plump, red lips smiled in response. “Let’s go see your mother.”

“What? Loki, _no._ She’ll see us.” Antoine’s female voice rang out, high pitched and panicked that Loki almost would not have believed it to be his Antoine.

“Do you not trust me?”

 

“I can’t _believe_ she didn’t recognize me! She saw me, right? You _saw_ her notice me right? I didn’t imagine that, _right?_ ” Antoine asked, frantic eyes darting at the surroundings in front of him. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, and for a man of a shorter stature than Loki, Antoine was always a few paces ahead of him. When his mother’s eyes had barely skimmed through the pair of two men – well, a man and a woman, _according_ to her – she hadn’t given a second glance, instead continuing her conversation with the neighbour. Antoine let out a sigh of irritation and immediately disappeared from beside Loki. The man had already started speed-walking the way they had come from. Later, Antoine decides that it’s time to leave Annecy, seemingly done with it - and even though it’s the fastest he’s ever wanted to leave a place, Loki obliged. 

  
  


“So why Ancona?”

“I’ve heard a lot about this place,” Loki responds, taking in the sights of the familiar town that looked far too different from when he last saw it. The buildings looked different, the people looked different – they didn’t look as friendly – and definitely _more_ , cobblestoned paths were replaced by roads for vehicles, and yet, the Santa Maria della Piazza looked the same as ever.

“Huh. Must be old.” Antoine’s also looking at the church that caught Loki’s attention. Loki hadn’t even realized that he had stopped to stare at it. Nostalgia flooded within him, remembering the first time he saw the church with a bright-eyed Tony telling him all sorts of historical facts.

“11th century,” Loki unknowingly replies, and almost smacks himself for letting that slip out. Antoine casts him a curious glance, raising an eyebrow ever so slightly.

“I did a bit of research,” Loki shrugs, and Antoine just nods. Loki watches as Antoine’s eyes scanned their surroundings, marvelling at the architecture of the city. It reminded Loki of a distant memory, and soon, Antoine was no longer the one in front of him. 

 

_“The buildings in Ancona are very beautiful, not at all like any other.” Tony said, his voice far away as his eyes travelled across the houses. With a slow shake of his head, he turned to look at Loki, eyes bright and shining. “How are your houses back home? In… England?”_

_“England,” Loki repeats without the extra emphasis on the ‘g’ that Tony accidentally did._

_“England,” Tony repeats, and it still sounds the same, so Loki just smiles._

_“England is not as colourful, and certainly not as friendly,” Loki finished with a pointed look at Tony, and there was an evident blush that creeped up in Tony’s cheeks before he looked away - flustered._

 

“Hey, Lokes!” Antoine’s voice snapped him out of his memory, and Loki blinked a few times before looking at him. “Wow, lost you there for a minute, huh?” 

“Yes, sorry. This place reminds me a lot of home.” 

Antoine nods in understanding, and inches closer to Loki so that he could entwine their fingers together. Loki feels a soft, comforting squeeze on his hand before Antoine continues walking alongside him. They pass the building that once used to be Tony’s house, now a three-storeyed building that housed many different families. It’s a gut twisting reminder of what had happened to Tony when he lived in that house, a reminder of the last place Tony had felt happy before he was dragged out to be killed. He remembers going to Tony’s house, remembers being told what happened to his lover and remembers the static that filled his senses after. 

They were in their hotel room, just about to drift off to sleep when Antoine started speaking - slow and hesitant.

“Are we ever going to settle down?” 

Loki’s eyes snapped open. 

“Do you wish to?”

“Yeah, I mean - eventually, yeah.” There’s a shuffle of movement, and Antoine turns to Loki, partially sitting up and resting on his elbow. “I mean, it’s not even the fact that I feel like you’re wasting all your money on me. It’s just that - how long can we keep this up? We can’t keep travelling forever.” 

“Never have I felt that I am wasting my money on you, and there is absolutely no reason for you to think that, Antoine. I’ve already told you this. But, did you not say you wanted to see the world?” 

“I did, and I _have._ You’ve shown me everything I’ve ever wanted to see, taken me everywhere I’ve wanted to go. I cannot thank you enough for that, I can’t _ever._ I just - I want to settle down. I want to start a family with you.” 

Loki’s heart is hammering in his chest - flooding with feelings he’s never felt before. They had never talked about starting a family, not in any of his lovers incarnations, and it was a question that Loki himself didn’t want an answer to. Never mind that there was no possibility of them to be able to adopt a child, making their relationship official would be too risky for Antoine. And even if they did get a child - what would the child do after Antoine’s death? After Loki has to leave? Loki’s expression must have given something away, because Antoine immediately backtracks. 

“What I meant was, both of us can still be a family, you know? We don’t - won’t need a child to complete us. I just want to be with you; grow old with you.” 

Loki senses that’s not all Antoine wants, but his lover isn’t pressing. With a small smile, he reaches up and presses a kiss against the corner of Antoine’s cheek. 

“Of course, my love.” 

They travel to New York a few days later. The city was at its peak of urbanisation, and Antoine marvelled at almost every sight that caught his attention. They finally bought a home for themselves, after years and years of travelling and staying in hotels. Loki felt a burden being lifted from his chest, replaced with a sense of comfort that Antoine decided to make what they had permanent. The past few years, Loki dreaded waking up every morning to Antoine telling him that he wanted to leave, to go back home, that he _couldn’t do this anymore._ But now Antoine was right there in front of him, looking at him with a vase in his hands that failed to reach the shelf above him. Central Park was seen stretched out in the window behind Antoine, and Loki couldn’t help but smile. After decades, things may have finally worked out between them. They spend days and weeks inside their home, sometimes spending their days lazing around, and other times, Antoine would go out looking for jobs. Loki wasn’t insistent on it, considering he could give Antoine anything he needed - but he supposed Antoine wanted to do this for himself. 

 

“The star spangled man with a plan? What a joke,” Antoine mutters, setting the newspaper aside. 

“He helps people,” Loki replied, looking up at Antoine from where his head was placed on his lap. Antoine had spent the last few hours scanning different newspapers for any job openings in the area, and had picked up a paper with Captain America’s face plastered on it. The guy was some kind of war hero, but Loki never really paid much attention to the mundane human activities. 

“Yeah, well we helped people too. Where’s our catch phrase?” Antoine leads his head back, arching his neck over the top of the couch. His fingers found their way between Loki’s hair, softly playing with them. 

“Do you really need a catch phrase to announce your efforts to the community? I think your own name would be enough by itself.” 

Antoine just shrugs in response. 

 

He finally gets a job as a mechanic in a garage a few blocks away from their home, and Loki starts to see him lesser and lesser. Antoine really loved the garage, went early in the morning and came back late nights and Loki found himself sleeping and waking up alone. He would hear Antoine come back late at night, quietly slip into the shower and snuggle on the bed behind Loki, only to be gone the next morning without a word. He understood Antoine’s passion for mechanics, understood his longing towards combining it with technology, and he also understood that somewhere along the line, Antoine had stopped being dependent on Loki. What once used to be a relationship where Loki would know what Antoine wanted, and they had a mutual understanding where Antoine knew Loki didn’t mind - but now, Antoine was growing further  apart from him, and Loki didn’t know what Antoine wanted anymore. 

One night, Loki stays awake waiting for Antoine. They haven’t talked in days, and a conversation was long due. 1:00am becomes 2:00am, and finally, a few minutes past 3:00am, Loki hears the front door open. He listens as Antoine shuffles around the living room - probably removing his shoes - and then heads to the kitchen. He listens to Antoine drinking water - soft gulps that reach Loki’s ears and growing louder with every gulp. Finally, Antoine enters the bedroom, eyes drifting over Loki before suddenly stopping short at Loki’s still figure seated on the bed. 

“Loki? Why are you awake at this hour?” Antoine sounds strangely worried. 

_Loki,_ not _Lokes,_ Loki thinks. He decides to go straight to the point. 

“Are we alright? You and me?” Loki asks, and immediately regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. Antoine doesn’t say anything, merely stares back, and Loki’s words are left floating in the air. 

Antoine’s eyes are filled to the brim with emotions, and yet, Loki can’t decipher a single one. The longer the silence, the louder his own heartbeats get. 

“I’m sorry,” is all Antoine says, and Loki hopes that that means Antoine’s understood what went wrong, and that things will be alright again, that this conversation won’t be as bad as he figured it would be, until Antoine finishes his sentence, “I can’t be with you anymore.” 

Pin drop silence. 

Anger, disappointment, sadness and fear are swirling through his mind until he quite literally deflates. He doesn’t know what went wrong, can’t identify when it happened - was it when Antoine got the job? Was it when he saw his mother in Annecy and realized she didn’t recognize him? Or was it because of Loki?

“It’s not you,” Antoine immediately cuts off Loki’s train of thoughts, and for a second, Loki feared Antoine may have somehow read his mind. “I just realized - realized right now, actually - I weighed spending time with you here, and spending time at the garage and I chose working around machines. I have to consider the possibility that if I chose it now, then I’ll choose it tomorrow, and I’ll keep choosing it. I love you - I do, really. I did want a family with you. But I don’t want you to be a second choice, not even if it’s with me.” 

And for all his years of being called Silvertongue, for all his years of being told that there wouldn’t be a single instance where he can’t come up with a reply - Loki fell short of words. There was nothing he could do but dumbly nod his head at the man he loves. This time, there wasn’t a someone, there wasn’t a something that tore them apart - it was solely Antoine’s passion. If there’s one thing that Loki knew, it was that Antoine had an incredibly passion towards whatever he did, and it was too strong to be altered by Loki. 

Since they bought the house with Loki’s money - even though Loki had repeatedly insisted it was _theirs_ \- Antoine was the one who moved out. Two days later, Loki’s left with an empty bed. 

Loki doesn’t see Antoine again - doesn’t want to. The only thing he keeps is the house, and all the memories preserved inside it. Loki doesn’t see Antoine again - he couldn’t. 

He knows not when his lover died, where he died, and if he was with someone who cared for him as much as Loki did. He only hopes that Antoine got to live a full life. 

  
  



End file.
